


Sleepwalk With Me

by electricsheepdreamer



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: "I swear I've never done this before...", Anal Sex, Angst, Chapters 1-14 take place during season 1, First Time Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 84,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24970735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricsheepdreamer/pseuds/electricsheepdreamer
Summary: ~So I wrote this fic in 2013/14ish and then deleted it from the internet because I was worried some IRL people would find it and roast tf out of me~Will’s sleepwalking has grown increasingly worse and he ends up on Frederick Chilton’s doorstep. What follows is something neither of them could have ever anticipated.
Relationships: Dr. Frederick Chilton/Will Graham
Comments: 41
Kudos: 41





	1. You Are Not Alone

Frederick Chilton sat in his living room, a somewhat sterile space with high ceilings and large windows that made the room seem like it was made of glass. His house was secluded enough to have a beautiful view of the small patch of trees that surrounded it, but close enough to the heart of Baltimore for it to be easily accessible from the main roads. He sat on a modern couch of rough white fabric with a stainless steel frame, only feet from a piano he rarely played. He was a man that cared more about appearances than substance.

  
With his feet propped on the glass coffee table in front of him, he flipped through the most recent copy of the Journal For Abnormal Psychology. Despite not being the most revered psychiatrist in Baltimore, let alone the one to be in charge of The Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally Insane, Chilton liked to keep up with the latest theories and studies to help aid him in setting free the secrets his inmates locked away in the corners of their minds. He lazily scanned the pages, passing over too many ads for the latest anti-psychotic or mood stabilizer when he arrived to a paper written by none other than Hannibal Lecter.

  
Chilton sneered at the page. _Hannibal, Hannibal, Hannibal. What an insufferable asshole_ , he thought. When it came to Hannibal Lecter, Chilton suppressed his annoyance with him, always turning on the charm and being careful not to roll his eyes at Lecter’s almost poetic comments and observations. Of course, Chilton was jealous of him. Lecter certainly was more respected in the psychiatric community and Chilton was smart to befriend him rather than bemoan him. Being Lecter’s friend came with its benefits no doubt: He was a brilliant cook and even more brilliant psychiatrist who often shared his food, wine, and insight. Just being associated with him elevated Chilton’s reputation amongst his peers, giving him additional impetus to be on his best behavior around his colleague. Still though, Chilton craved the kind of praise and respect Lecter received.

  
He heard Hannibal’s melodious voice even in the most clinical sections of the text, which annoyed him further. Growing agitated, he tossed the magazine aside and got up to go to bed when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Scanning the darkness of his lawn, he saw a shadowy figure standing still about 30 feet away. He froze in fright, wondering if an escaped inmate had finally come to kill him as so many of them had promised. He quickly turned off the light and moved closer to the window to get a better look.

  
Confusion replaced fear when he recognized who was standing on his lawn. He rushed to the front door, fumbling to put on a pair of shoes before throwing the door wide open.

“Will? Will Graham? Is that you?” Chilton left his stoop and walked briskly towards the perplexing man he’d only met a couple times. _Why the hell is he here_?

Will was standing completely still, wearing only a sweat stained t-shirt and boxer shorts that looked just a little too small. Chilton was baffled as to how he got there, since Wolf Trap is over an hour away but he realized Will had driven there when he saw a car parked at the end of his driveway, far enough away that he wouldn’t have noticed the headlights from his living room.

  
Chilton came closer to stand a couple feet from Will, disturbed by the blank look on his face. “Will! Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

  
With a slight flicker of the eyes, Will came out of his stupor and looked at Chilton, puzzled.

  
“Dr. Chilton?” Will hugged himself, feeling the chill of the November air. “What – where am I?”

  
“You’re in Baltimore. You must have driven here.” Chilton became even more confused when he realized Will couldn’t have possibly known his address. “How do you know where I live?”

  
“I’m not sure.” Will was fully present and baffled as well as to how he could have ended up at the doorstep of Frederick Chilton, a man he found pompous and self-aggrandizing. “I must have seen your address somewhere. Perhaps Dr. Lecter’s office?”

  
“Well it’s incredibly unlikely that Hannibal Lecter would be giving out my personal address to patients.” Chilton frowned. Then again, I wouldn’t put anything past Hannibal fucking Lecter.

  
“I’m not his patient.”

  
“Well it’s even more distressing that he’d be giving my address to special investigators for the FBI.” Chilton put a hand on Will’s shoulder and lead him to the house. “Come inside. You must be freezing.”

  
“I don’t know how I got here, Dr. Chilton.”

  
“Has this happened to you before?” Chilton brought him in and shut the door behind him. He looked down at Will’s feet and noticed he was barefoot and muddy. “Please stay here and I’ll grab you a towel. I don’t want you tracking mud all over the floors.”

  
As Chilton walked briskly to the bathroom, he chastised himself for making it seem as if he cared more about his hardwood floors than the scared, confused man he left in the foyer. _I’m sure he likes me even less now, which is just perfect. As if I didn’t make an ass of myself prodding at him when he came to the hospital._

  
Chilton returned with a dampened towel and handed it over. “I hope I didn’t come off rude just then. I’m a bit overprotective when it comes to the state of my home.”

  
“Well it’s a beautiful home, so that’s understandable.” Will wiped his feet of thoroughly. Chilton bowed his head slightly to hide his blushing at the compliment. He rarely had guests despite having the accommodations and the small amount of praise made him giddy, especially coming from Will Graham. Chilton found himself thinking about Will regularly after he’d finished his interviews with Abel Gideon. It hit him how absurd and serendipitous it was that not only the object of his affection was standing in his house, but doing so in a thin cotton shirt and impossibly small shorts.

  
“Please, come in and sit down.” He brought Will to the kitchen and sat him at a small dining room table. “Can I get you anything? Tea, maybe?”

  
“That would be wonderful. Chamomile if you have it.”

Chilton fumbled around his cabinets, pulling out box after box, growing flustered at the fact that he had everything but chamomile. “I have peppermint.”

  
“That’s fine.” Will put his head in hands and let out a relieved sigh. He was still unnerved that he didn't just sleepwalk but sleepdrove himself to a place he’d never been to. A couple of Advil PM washed down with a finger of whiskey couldn’t explain the loss of time and he grew increasingly panicked as he tried to piece together his night. The clamor Chilton was making while banging around with the teakettle rang loud, the noise making his temples throb.

  
“Will,” Chilton put the kettle on and sat down next to him. “I know we didn’t get off on the right foot, but I’m very worried about you. Is this an isolated incident?”

  
“Yes.” Will scrunched his face. “Well, no. I’ve been sleepwalking a bit, but nothing like this.”

  
“Did you take anything? Ambien, Lunesta? Those drugs are notorious for causing people to do things unknowingly in their sleep.”

  
“No, nothing like that. Just a little whiskey.” Will was surprised that Chilton cared at all. The Frederick Chilton he met at The Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally Insane was rude and smarmy. This Frederick Chilton was fretting over his mental state and making him peppermint tea.

  
“You shouldn’t be drinking before bed anyway. It may make you drowsy, but it decreases the time you spend in a deep sleep.” The kettle began to whistle and Chilton shot up to take it off the stove before it became louder. He could tell Will was sensitive to the noise, so he was careful to be quiet as he took two coffee mugs from a cabinet and put them on the granite counter top. He poured the hot water and left the tea to steep.

  
“I don’t think I’ve been sleeping deeply anyway.” Will rested his forehead on his hand and closed his eyes. “I feel like I haven’t slept at all.”

  
Chilton felt helpless. He didn’t know how to help this man even though he desperately wanted to. They sat in silence for a couple minutes, Will lost in thought and Chilton trying to suppress the anxiety he felt over long silences. “I’m sure the tea is ready by now.”

  
He rose quickly and brought the mugs to the table, being careful not to spill. He placed his mug down first, freeing a hand to place on Will’s shoulder as a gesture of support. “Here you go.”

  
Will let out a small chuckle. “You know, you’re not the asshole I met at your hospital.”

  
“Wow. Thank you,” replied Chilton. He laughed as he sat down. “First you show up at my house in the middle of the night and then insult me at my dinner table.”

  
“That came out worse than it sounded in my head.” Will shook his head, embarrassed of himself. “What I meant was that you and I butted heads and you were kind of a jerk to me.”

  
“Ah, yes. That’s what we call in the psychiatric community a “defense mechanism.” I’m especially defensive at work. A lot of people don’t take me seriously, Jack Crawford being one of them.”

  
Will grimaced. He had some defense mechanisms of his own and understood how Chilton’s insecurities could manifest as pomposity and an almost pathological need to always be right. 

  
“Well Jack is hard to please and even harder to convince that his first instinct can be wrong. You seem to have built some high walls around yourself. If this is the real Frederick Chilton I’m sitting with, of course.”

  
Chilton laughed and didn’t try to conceal his blushing cheeks. “Oh, so you’re psychoanalyzing me now!”

  
“I wouldn’t call it psychoanalyzing. More getting to know you, if anything.” Will smiled into his tea, draining the cup. Will and Chilton locked eyes for a few seconds, but to Chilton it felt like hours of sublime connection between him and the man he sat next to. He wondered what Will was feeling. _Am I crazy?_

  
“Well, let’s get you to bed then. It’s nearly 1:00 AM and I have a meeting with the hospital board at 8:30. The guest room is –“

  
“No, no, I should get back home.” Will yawned and rubbed his eyes. Chilton stood up to put their mugs in the dishwasher.

  
“You’re not driving an hour back to Wolf Trap in the state you’re in. Driving tired is comparable to drunk driving and as a doctor, I won’t allow it. That’s my professional opinion.”

  
Will shrugged and walked to the kitchen where Chilton was faking doing the dishes, despite the fact that there weren’t any in the sink. He scrubbed the already spotless sink to hide how giddy he was that Will Graham would be staying the night. In the guest room, of course, but it was better than not having Will there at all.

  
“I’ll show you the way. I hope you like a firm mattress.” Chilton felt stupid saying that. _What am I talking about? A firm mattress, Jesus, I have no idea how to make small talk._ “Um, there’s shampoo and what not in the bathroom if you want to take a shower.”

  
“Thank you Frederick. This is very kind of you.” Chilton’s heart skipped a beat. _He called me Frederick._ “I’ll be out of your hair early. I have morning lectures on Thursdays.”

  
“It’s really no bother. Well, here you go.” Chilton opened the door for Will as he brushed past him, grazing Chilton lightly as he made his way in. He flopped down on the bed and turned to an alarm clock on the nightstand, setting it for 6:30. He really didn’t need to be up that early, but he wanted to sneak out before Chilton woke up. It wasn’t that he didn’t like him. In fact it was quite the opposite. He has a hard time connecting with others and when he did, his first instinct is to flee out of fear of rejection. _Maybe this time I won’t stop myself_ , he thought as he got beneath the covers. A few minutes later he was fast asleep.   
  
It was dawn when Chilton's eyes opened. He woke up 15 minutes before his alarm and he’s one of those people who can’t bother with the snooze button because when he’s up, he’s up. He lie on his side in a plush California king size bed and turned to lay on his back; that’s when he saw him. Will Graham was sleeping on the other side, far away enough that he wouldn’t have felt Will crawling in next to him. After the initial shock, Chilton stared at him, mesmerized by his beauty. He briefly thought of waking him, but instead watched him sleep peacefully until his alarm buzzed, pulling him out of what he truly thought was a dream. It wasn’t though. Will’s eyes fluttered open as Chilton slammed the alarm off quickly to hide that he’d been staring.

  
Chilton feigned surprise to even further cover up his tracks. “Will! What are you doing in here?”

  
Will furrowed his brows. “I dreamt I was dying. It felt so real,” he said with a shaky voice. He sighed and sat up. “I thought if I could find someone to sleep next to, I’d know I wasn’t alone.”

  
“You’re not.” The two men felt a mutual intimacy that washed over them like a sun shower. “You’re not.”


	2. Go Or Go Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Chiton have their respective bad days and Will shows up at Chilton's doorstep again, this time fully aware and searching for comfort.

Thursdays were Will’s longest days. He taught three classes back to back, two of them on the psychology of criminal behavior followed by fieldwork in criminal psychology. By the third, he’d always grow weary of his students, especially the ones who were too eager to please. He found their enthusiasm often lead to showboating and mediocre grades. In the large gap between his evening classes, he would drive 45 minutes from Quantico to Wolf Trap to feed the dogs and he always overfilled their bowls to make up for not getting home in time to feed them dinner. He’d then make himself a simple lunch and take a walk with his most loyal friends. The drive back was always weary, like beginning a new day in the afternoon. 

It was 7:15 by the time he was ready to leave his classroom and felt a throbbing headache creeping into his temples. Unfortunately, there was another half hour of class he had to meander his way through. As much as he was looking forward to going home, he felt a twinge of anxiety about sleeping. After blinking himself onto Chilton’s doorstep, he was worried where else he might abruptly wake up. What if he woke up in a sinking car that he unknowingly drove into the Chesapeake Bay? Those thoughts began to plague him in the quiet moments he had between classes and reconstructing crime scenes in his mind. He was desperate to leave.

He paced back and forth as he talked, noticing the students who looked as equally tired as he did. _I know. I want to get the fuck out of here too._

“Most of the time in sexual assaults, the bite mark has a livid spot at the center, a suck bruise. Some cases it does not. To some killers, biting can be a fighting pattern, as well a sexual behavior.” He clicked a small remote in his hand that allowed a picture of a jagged bite mark flash onto the projection screen behind him. “This one in particular is unique, as the perpetrator’s teeth are jagged, leaving uneven wounds that are most likely the result of a maxillofacial disfigurement, perhaps a cleft palate. Or bad dentistry.”

Several students let out small chuckles, reassuring Will that not all of them were apathetic to his lectures and lame jokes.

“Because of this uniqueness, the perpetrator will be much easier to identify than those that leave more standard looking wounds.” He clicked the remote again, showing a conventional bite mark. “Despite what you may be-“ He paused as he saw Jack Crawford walk briskly into the classroom, stopping to lean in the doorway. He nodded at Will with a serious and determined expression.

“You know what? We’re going to end class early. We’ll continue the discussion on Tuesday. Have a good weekend.” _I know I will_ , he thought despondently as the students shuffled out. Crawford swiftly moved to Will’s desk and sat on its edge with arms crossed. “What is it this time Jack?”

“Another murder. Might be The Ripper. I need you to come now while the crime scene is still fresh, so when you’re ready, we’ll go, and you’re ready right now.” Will let out a long sigh, deferring to the intimidating man that stood before him. “So, let’s go.”

It was 9:15 by the time he was finished at the crime scene, gruesome images of human flesh sliced like slabs of meat staining his mind. The evening felt like a waste however, because the scene he arrived at was emphatically not left for him by The Chesapeake Ripper. He rested his head against the window of Jack’s car as he was driven back to Quantico. With barely a word, he climbed out of the car and slammed the door, resentment growing in him every second. As Will walked to his own vehicle, he had a strong desire to go anywhere but home. The dogs will be fine, he thought. He weighed his options. _What, am I going to go to some bar and drink ‘til I pass out in the gutter?_

No. That wouldn’t do. Dr. Chilton had told him that drinking before bed is a bad idea anyway. Will then wondered if it was too late to stop by Chilton’s house. Despite the troubling circumstances around his showing up the pervious night, he felt safer there than anywhere else nowadays. His home used to comfort him, but there were too many nightmares about Garret Jacob Hobbs and endless tableaus of dismembered corpses breathing inside its dusty shadows for him to feel safe. Maybe that’s why he was sleepwalking: His unconscious was making him run away when he couldn’t do it himself.

He turned the ignition and looked at the clock, which read 9:35. _That isn’t late, right? Right. Okay_. Even though Chilton’s house was farther away from Quantico than his own, he’d rather have someone to talk to other than his dogs. He remembered how to get there, but lacked the foresight to get Chilton’s number before he left his house that morning. Still, he decided to take the risk of showing up unannounced, fairly confident he’d be invited in. As he made his way onto the interstate, he felt more like the car was driving him than the other way around. The twinkling lights of the city shone too bright and he was relieved when the highway snaked around the heart of Baltimore, bringing him closer to Chilton’s hidden residence.

Chilton sat in front of his sizable television, flipping mindlessly through the channels. Music, words, shouts, and laughs pulsed at an odd rhythm as he clicked the remote with abandon. He soon gave up, shut the TV off, and stared blankly at the black screen. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything all day. Several times during that morning’s meeting with the hospital board, his mind wandered zealously, wrestling with itself to pick one thing to focus on: This year’s budget or Will Graham. Running a state facility is tasking enough, but running a hospital with a delicate ecosystem built around corralling evil minds was much more difficult than anyone gave him credit for. It was unfortunate that the pontifical façade he constructed to deflect unsettling threats and confessions was so finely stitched into his being, as many ignored the thankless work he did based solely on the fact that they plain didn’t like him.

His day didn’t improve after the meeting adjourned. An inmate had quietly gnawed on his wrists until he tore away at the veins, spraying blood all over his cell and the orderlies that were obligated to help him. If only the Hippocratic oath or state and federal laws didn’t restrict Chilton’s true inclinations, he would have let the man bleed to death. Although Chilton didn’t believe the state should murder its own citizens, no matter how insidious, he did believe some of them deserved to die. Nearly all of them resided in the tombs of his hospital.

He scrubbed his mind clean with the last swig of his fourth glass of a rich, oaky merlot. On most days, he would take time to explore the depth of flavor in each sip, but this particular evening he drank to get drunk. He stopped worrying about an impending hangover halfway through his third glass, deciding that if he was going to feel horrid the next day, he might as well drink until he passed out. The giddy warmth of alcohol pulsing through his system washed away the sins of the day, allowing him to relax the tension he felt constrict his muscles. He debated opening a second bottle, but thought better of it because he felt like only truly desperate people get sloppily plastered on a week night.

Chilton didn’t want to go to bed though. He was certainly drunk enough to tuck into bed for what would be an unsatisfying night’s sleep, but that seemed like a waste of wine. He wasn’t one to cut loose, but in a different life before the hospital, before med school, before people grew to detest him, he loved bar hopping with the temporary friends one wastes time with while waiting for the real ones to come along. For him, those friends never came. He drifted from clique to clique on the periphery, always split in half by the inches of photographs that couldn’t make room for him. He briefly considered blasting the top 40 songs that were popular during his college years, but those would bring back memories that weren’t necessarily fond, just those of a less complicated time when existing was effortless.

He stood in front of his speakers, clumsily stroking his finger up and down the screen of his rarely used iPod, looking to fill the claustrophobic silence of his sprawling home. He couldn’t place his mood; he wasn’t happy, that was for damn sure, but he wasn’t despondent. He felt a longing, something he didn’t feel often and the last time he did, it was as brief as a kiss between two people who didn’t share a mutual ache.

His thumb arrived at Rufus Wainwright, an artist he loved but had neglected to really listen to in years. Wainwright’s pure and mellifluous voice had soothed him in the past and seemed to match his drunken melancholy. He picked a song and placed the iPod back in its dock, cranking up the volume to pacify his restlessness. He lie down and closed his eyes, feeling like his body was dissolving, leaving him intangible to the outside world.

He took a deep breath. Wainwright crooned, _it was worth it, feeling abandoned makes one hardened, but what has happened to love?_ Chilton’s mind wandered to where it wanted to all day: Will Graham and how he’d slept peacefully at Chilton’s side the night before. _So I will opt for the big white limo, vanity fairgrounds, and rebel angels. You can’t be trusted with feathers so hollow_. He knew there was a spark between them. He felt it in his kitchen over peppermint tea and in his room when he reassured Will that he wasn’t alone. _Go or go ahead. Go or go ahead and just try me. What has happened to love? What has happened to love?_

A faint ringing brought him out of his stupor. He shot up, realizing it was the doorbell and he tripped over himself in his drunken state as he tried to stand. He paused the swirling music to make sure the sound wasn’t a figment of his imagination while becoming lightheaded from getting up too quickly which was compounded by the dizziness of intoxication. The music abruptly stopped and the doorbell rang again.

“Who the hell – “, Chilton stammered as he shuffled to the foyer, grazing his hand against the wall to regain balance. He fumbled with the locks on his door and swung it open, letting in a whoosh of cold air and revealing the man who stood behind it.

“Hello, Frederick.” Will Graham smiled sheepishly. Chilton was bewildered at the sight in front of him, his eyes widening in disbelief. “I was in the area and I thought I’d say hello.”

Chilton leaned onto his doorway to seem casual, trying not to let on how drunk he was. “Well, hello. Come inside.”

Will stepped in and took off his coat. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Heavens no.” Chilton lead him to the living room, where he’d left an empty glass and a finished bottle of wine. “Just me drowning my sorrows.”

“Bad day?” Will flopped down on the couch with an ease that suggested he’d sat there hundreds of times. He rested his head and let out a big sigh.

“You too?” Chilton felt his feet grow heavy, gluing him to the floor and making it impossible to move toward the couch to sit beside Will. “Do you want some wine?”

“Sure,” Will said as he gestured at the empty bottle in front of him. “Looks like I have some catching up to do.”

Chilton blushed, feeling like he was caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. He spent far too much time judging his own behavior than anyone else ever could and the embarrassment he felt about drinking alone was unwarranted, but obvious nonetheless. “I’ll go grab some.”

Will shut his eyes while Chilton ambled his way to the kitchen, images from the crime scene he’d left a couple hours earlier billowing on the rolling seas of his mind. Flayed skin fell like onionskin paper behind his eyelids. Jack Crawford promised he would protect him, but Will was beginning to feel like he was more concerned with protecting his own career; his obsession with The Ripper was taking a toll on the people around him, namely Will. Chilton snapped him free from the pull of bleak, murderous narratives when he returned with a bottle of chardonnay. He set down a glass for Will and brought his own closer the bottle as he sat down gingerly.

“One for me,” he said as he splashed a small amount of wine into his glass, “and one for you.” The bottle let loose a gulp as Chilton filled Will’s glass nearly to the brim. “To catch up with me.”

They clinked their glasses and each took a sip, Will taking a generous swig. Chilton watched him drink, his heart palpitating as he fully grasped the significance of the moment. Will Graham consciously came to his home late at night to seek out his company. Chilton’s inhibitions had been chipped away by alcohol and he blurted out what he’d been thinking the moment he opened his door.

“Will, why did you come here?” He was taken aback by his own candor. “I mean, I’m very happy to have you here, but I’m wondering why you would want to be here. With me.”

Will chortled. “Give yourself some more credit, Frederick! I consider us friends now, don’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose. I haven’t made a friend I actually wanted to spend time with, and vice versa, in a very long time, so I’m wary of anyone who takes an interest in me. There is usually some sort of agenda at hand.” He paused to take a sip. “Not that I think you have an agenda.”

“The only agenda I have is to spend time with someone I actually like. Or someone I like that doesn’t have a “professional curiosity” about me.” That phrase soured him. Alana Bloom had retreated from him because of her professional curiosity, leaving him more stranded than he was before she had curiosities about him at all. “Although, you did when we first met. You were very eager to test me.”

“Apologies,” said Chilton sheepishly. “But I assure you that I’m much more interested in Will Graham the person, not Will Graham the prized possession of the FBI. In fact, I find my initial behavior incredibly tasteless. There’s a pressure in the community to stand out and a study on your unique pathology would garner attention, which would come at the price of not being your friend. That doesn’t interest me.”

“You wouldn’t be able to ignore my pathology, though.” Will finished off his first glass and poured himself a second. “That would be naïve of both of us to think that.”

“Every psychiatrist has to face the reality that they will try to analyze the people they care about and then decide to choose not to.” Chilton set down his glass and shifted himself closer towards Will. “Every day I have to nitpick and analyze everything that goes on in my hospital. It’s exhausting. The last thing I want is to do that at home, so I've learned how to compartmentalize; keep work at work.”

“I had things very neatly compartmentalized before Jack Crawford yanked me back into the field. Now? Now there aren’t even any compartments to organize.” Will sighed deeply. “I can feel myself slipping sometimes. I didn’t want to go home because I was worried where I’d wind up in my sleep.”

Chilton’s cheeks flushed a light pink. “So you came here? To me?” The two men locked eyes and a panicked giddiness overcame Chilton.

“Yes. I feel grounded here. Safe.” Will drained his glass again and set it on the table. “Is that odd to say? I’ve only been here once before.”

“No, not at all. I’m beginning to suspect the people in your life are keeping you not safe, either by design or happenstance.” Chilton reached for Will’s hand. “I’m on your side. I don’t want you sleepwalking off a bridge because of Jack Crawford’s selfishness.”

Will let Chilton hold his hand and smiled at him. He felt electricity between them that he had never experienced with another man. The solemn affection he’d held for Alana Bloom seemed dull compared to what he was feeling just then. He was mystified by what it meant. Chilton felt it too, but he was cautious about the reality of it because he’d too often been rejected and the idea of being spurned by Will rattled him. He withdrew his hand and the two men sat in a comfortable silence, listening to the wind sweep through the trees outside. After a few minutes, Chilton looked down at his watch. 

“Look at the time.” Chilton winced at his awkwardness. “We were up late last night, so I really should go to sleep. You know how to find the guest room.”

Will rose with Chilton. “I don’t –“ he paused trying to find the right words as Chilton turned to face him. “I would feel better if maybe I slept in your room. I’ll stay on my side.”

“Of course,” said Chilton breathlessly, his drunkenness replaced by the inimitable high of amorous warmth.

Will followed him upstairs to the familiar room he woke up in that morning. Chilton excused himself to his bathroom to brush his teeth and put on his pajamas out of Will’s sight, his modesty growing tenfold. When he returned, Will was in his undershirt and boxers. _Those damn tiny shorts_ , Chilton thought, trying to maintain his composure. Will shuffled to the bathroom as Chilton got beneath the covers, his body tensing with the anticipation of Will’s return. He didn’t expect anything besides Will merely sleeping near him, but that was a triumph in itself.

Will reentered the room and skittered to the other side of the bed, unaware of what his intentions were. He felt drawn to this man in a way he didn’t understand but knew that he had to contain that feeling and hold onto it delicately. Chilton watched Will with heavy eyes as he climbed into bed. He longed to graze his fingertips along Will’s pale, muscular thighs, but he restrained himself.

Chilton drew a large breath. “Goodnight then.” He switched off the light as Will replied with a goodnight of his own.

As they slept peacefully, their bodies inched closer and closer until they wrapped around each other beneath covers that bunched up with peaks and valleys like a vast mountain range.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title and lyrics quoted are both from Rufus Wainwright's "Go Or Go Ahead"
> 
> There are a couple lines snatched right from the show and even a little allusion to Red Dragon :-)


	3. Then A Word Washed To Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Chilton have their first sexual encounter; Chilton meets a new patient at The Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally insane.

Will floated in a great river; it’s current tugged at his naked skin. Twigs and leaves glided past him as he began to sink, willingly like Ophelia. He took in a deep breath and the cool water filled his lungs with ease as he sank deeper. He watched his fingers reach for a streak of black hair that swirled above, barely grazing them as he descended further into a sapphire abyss. He kicked his legs so that he could fully grab the black waves that licked at his hands, but they moved as if through warm molasses. He managed to wrap a hand around a large amount of hair and pulled down hard, feeling a dull struggle against him. Awareness that he couldn’t breathe struck just as he gave the hair one final tug with urgency, struggling to reach the surface of the water. Abigail Hobbs crashed into him with blood billowing from her neck, the crimson of her life force swelling into the blue of the river. As he struggled to breathe, Abigail grazed his lips with her thumb and said, “Wake up, dad.”

He opened his eyes abruptly, his first instinct being to shoot up out of bed to escape the cloud of Abigail Hobbs’ blood that he was still emerging from. Before he could, he felt the heaviness of Chilton’s head on his chest and dared not to budge out of fear of waking the man. Instead, he took in his surroundings. Chilton’s arm was draped around his waist so that he was limply hugging him. The morning light diffused through gauzy curtains, adding a brightness to the forest green walls of the room so that Will felt like they were drifting on a muted ocean in the safety of the mahogany bed they shared. Will breathed in deeply and Chilton’s head rose and fell with him, the weight of it pushing all the breath from his lungs. He looked down at Chilton’s hair; if this were any other man, he would have tried to desperately extricate himself slowly and slink away, but he felt an odd sense of comfort. Having another man wrapped around him was foreign and induced a small amount of panic in him, not because he found it disturbing, but because it felt normal in a way he’d never experienced. He would have known how to proceed if it was Alana Bloom he was holding in his arms; he would have known how to feel.

Chilton’s messy hair jutted out and splayed on Will’s chest. Almost absentmindedly, Will ran a few fingers through the hair, trying to smooth it out so it lay neater. Chilton’s hair was coarse but soft and sprang back against Will’s attempt at grooming. He gave up on taming it, instead lightly petting Chilton’s head as he stared into the middle distance, meditating on the actions that brought him there.

Chilton was coaxed out of his sleep by the soft stroke of Will’s fingertips on his scalp, sending shivers through his body. He was bewildered by the contact, growing increasingly anxious by the meaning behind it but was soothed by the ease of it. He felt saner knowing that the inexplicable spark between them was reciprocated. Will’s fingertips moved from Chilton’s head to rest on his arm, his warm hand lightly gripping cool skin. He cradled the other man for a couple minutes until the anticipation Chilton felt swell in his chest compelled him to shift his head so that it was facing Will’s.

They stared confusedly at each other. “What are you doing?” Chilton said softly.

“I’m not sure.” Chilton withdrew from him and rolled to his side, propping himself up to face Will. “What are you doing?”

Will inhaled sharply through his nose as Chilton moved closer, tentative but willing. “I’m not sure.”

Their mouths met with soft hesitance for a short, arid kiss but Chilton didn’t pull away, instead keeping his mouth centimeters from Will’s in the hopes the kiss would be returned. The seconds between their second kiss seemed to fill an hour’s time, but Will gave back, this time lightly passing his tongue over Chilton’s as he tilted his head for easier access to the other man’s hungry mouth. Will shifted down off the pillows he’d been propped on so that he was lying flat on the mattress, allowing Chilton to lie on top of him. Will felt the beginnings of the other man’s erection slowly grow on his hip and he almost instinctually pushed against it, eliciting a small moan from Chilton as they continued to kiss deeply, their tongues finding a slow rhythm with each other’s.

Chilton began to grind his cock against Will’s belly, his erection growing with each small thrust of his hips. Will’s cock twitched at the stimulation of Chilton’s skin against it through his thin boxers. The harder he grew, the less he thought of the burgeoning questions about his sexuality that swam in his mind minutes earlier when they began first contact. Chilton broke away and began kissing and licking at Will’s neck and tugging up at his shirt. He rubbed his hand over Will’s chest, grazing his stiff nipples with delicate fingertips. Will let out a ragged moan at the stimulation, thrusting his quickly hardening cock against Chilton’s stomach, completely overcome by a desire for the other man to touch it with his hands, his mouth. He was paralyzed at the thought of asking and hoped that Chilton would take the initiative to push further. It had been over a year since he had sex and it was an unsatisfying drunken encounter with a fingerprint analyst who he avoided since then anytime Jack Crawford brought him to consult with his forensic team.

His want was met as Chilton shoved a hand into his boxers, grasping his throbbing erection with a firm grip and pumped it lightly. Will let out a whimper as Chilton let go, taking a moment to move down to Will’s hips, leaving a trail of kisses on his stomach as he pulled down Will’s boxers, fully releasing his cock. Chilton looked up at Will hungrily, gauging the other man’s reaction. Will looked back with half closed eyes and nodded slowly, preparing himself for his first sexual encounter with another man.

“Ah, fuck.” Will panted as Chilton licked the underside of his cock, flicking his tongue at the head causing Will’s hips to buck in anticipation. Chilton continued to lick at it tortuously slow while gently cupping Will’s balls. Will let out an agonizing moan, desperate to have Chilton’s mouth wrapped around him. Again, his need was met as Chilton robustly took Will’s cock in his mouth, relaxing so that it was buried deep in Chilton’s throat. Chilton’s own arousal caused him to moan as he bobbed up and down and the vibration of it sent a white-hot jolt up Will’s spine. Chilton began to pump with his hand as his mouth concentrated on the head of Will’s pulsing cock, messaging his tongue against the sensitive and taut skin. Chilton took his mouth away to lick and suck on Will’s balls while he stroked his shaft more frantically, causing him pant and grunt roughly. Will began to feel the tingling of an orgasm beginning to build as Chilton pumped, twisting his hand in a corkscrew motion up and down his slick cock. 

With expert timing, Chilton took the entire length of Will’s prick into his mouth again, only needing two more hard pumps before Will exploded into the back of his mouth. Chilton slurped up and swallowed Will’s cum before extracting himself to regain his breath. He scooted up and rested his head on Will’s chest to listen to Will’s heavy breathing and rapidly beating heart.

Finally, Will’s breathing returned to normal. “That was the best fucking blowjob I’ve ever gotten in my life.” Chilton let out a relieved guffaw. Will put his hand on Chilton’s head and stroked it again just as he did when they woke up. The thought of reciprocating crossed his mind, but it somewhat terrified him. He’d never thought about sucking another man off and despite understanding the straightforward mechanics of it, he didn’t feel mentally prepared to do so. Chilton wasn’t expecting it anyway as he inexplicably suspected that this was Will’s first time with a man. He had noticed a familiarity between Will and Dr. Bloom when they came to his hospital to examine Abel Gideon that read as a mutual attraction and he’d assumed they had fucked in the past, were currently fucking, or were going to fuck soon thereafter.

Will shifted to perhaps continue or at least talk about what had just transpired, but he heard his phone vibrate in the pocket of the pants he left folded over a chair in the corner of the room. Chilton rolled off of him to let him retrieve the buzzing phone as he clumsily pulled his boxer shorts up.

“Will Graham.” Chilton watched Will as he listened, making small ‘mm-hms’ and he let out a long sigh before relaying one last response. “Okay, but you’re going to have to find someone to cover my class. Alana might be available but I think she’s getting a little irked by how many times she’s had to sub for me now. Uh-huh. Okay. Yes.”

Will began to pull on his trousers. “I’m sorry, but Jack needs me at a crime scene. I –“ He paused, searching for exactly what he wanted to say. “I don’t actually want to leave though. I’m not relieved to be running away like this.”

Chilton tried to contain a smile. “Hey, you have to do what you have to do.” He looked at the clock on his nightstand. “I’m running late anyway. We have a new inmate coming in. Real sick fuck. He murdered and dismembered six of his lovers and just maimed a seventh before getting caught.”

“Nice way to start off the day, I suppose.” A smile washed over Will’s face. “Although not as nice a way as this was.”

Chilton tried to suppress a grin as he watched Will pull on the rest of his clothes. He sat up as Will walked over to him.

“Thanks.” Will put his hand on Chilton’s cheek and looked into his eyes. “I’d like to see you again. I’ll umm, leave my info downstairs on my way out.”

An “okay” is all that Chilton could issue as Will left him. The longer he sat up, the more he felt a hangover that was delayed from the adrenaline his encounter with Will had tempered. He prepared for a long day at the hospital.

Chilton descended the stairs to the holding area where he conducted his one-on-one therapy with patients, his mind still fixated on what happened that morning. He gripped a legal notepad and pulled out his Mont Blanc pen as he sat squarely in front of the new inmate, confined to a rectangular cage. Charles Lin, a docile looking man in his 40’s, smiled at him, waiting for Chilton to initiate the conversation.

Chilton flicked the cap off his pen to scribble the date down. Lin’s case file was shoved hastily between the pages of the notepad and Chilton had to straighten the papers in his lap.

“Do you need some time, Doctor?” Charles Lin grinned at him. “I’m a patient man and as you know, I’ll be here for a while. But please, take your time.”

“Hello, Mr. Lin. I am Dr. Frederick Chilton. I’m in charge of this facility and as my patient, you will be meeting with me once a week as well as with other doctors on staff regularly as they see fit for your rehabilitation.” Chilton had given this speech several times before.

“Please, call me Charles,” Lin said pleasantly, as if he weren’t aware of the grave situation he found himself in. “Or Chuck. My real friends call me Chuck.”

“I’ll call you Charles.” Chilton crossed his legs and set down the case file to prop the notepad on his knee. “Are you familiar with how therapy works?”

“I’m assuming I talk, and you listen.” Lin slouched and ran a hand through his jet-black hair. “At least that’s what I’ve seen in the movies. I never needed therapy myself.”

“Perhaps a little therapy would have prevented you from killing six men.” Chilton sometimes taunted his patients with snide remarks and sarcasm, especially if in a bad mood.

Lin smiled. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Well, then. Why don’t you tell me what happened? Why are six men dead and why are you here for it?” Chilton began to take note of Lin’s expressions and the way he searched (or didn’t search) for words. Lin looked back at him blankly. “Let’s rewind. Why these particular men?”

“Do you have a lover, Dr. Chilton?” Lin’s dark eyes penetrated through him and he felt as if he had just given away all of his secrets to the man whose secrets he was trying to mine. _He’s just trying to ruffle your feathers, Frederick._

“We’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to talk about you.” Chilton shifted in his seat. “Do you have a lover, Charles?”

“I did. I had many. Juan was my lover until he betrayed me.”

“And now Juan is in Mercy Medical missing an eye and most of his jaw. That’s an interesting way to express your love.”

“He didn’t understand that I was trying to help him.” Lin sighed. “I was helping all of them.”

“How were you helping them?” Chilton wanted to continue shifting the conversation as far away from him as possible. “I’m curious as to your train of thought.”

“I was setting them free. They all desperately wanted to be free, so I gave them the freedom to hold onto peace like a dove released to the sky.”

“What were you trying to free them of?”

Lin closed his eyes and tilted his head back, searching for the right words. “The pain of existence.”

Chilton scratched his observations in messy handwriting that only he could translate. He noticed the wetness of Lin’s mouth and how the tan skin of his arms was rough while his face was smooth.

“All of your victims were young, healthy men with many years ahead of them. How were they in enough pain that you feel you needed to intervene?”

“It’s all there in your files,” Lin said as he motioned to the folder at Chilton’s feet. He took a deep breath. “Michael. Hmm, Michael. He was a manic-depressive whose lows weighed him down, with rusted chains around his neck and anchors for feet. He was already drowning when I liberated his essence into rarefied air.”

Chilton was growing impatient with the man’s ornate speech. _What is it with some psychopaths and their ridiculous way with words?_

“Juan told interviewers that you said that you loved him. And yet –“

“I do love him. I loved all of them. These men…they were all lonely. Very, very lonely and I saw that in them. I let them experience the beauty of my love so they could meet death with hearts that burst for me, for life. I gave them something to live for and when they finally felt the deliverance in being whole, I allowed them to leave the world healed.”

Chilton stared at him, trying to find a single emotion to read on Lin’s face, but there was none, only a forced smile. “Tell me about Juan. What happened with him?”

“He spurned me.” Finally, Lin broke as his face soured.

“But you tried to kill him anyway.” The men locked eyes and a shiver went up Chilton’s spine.

“And he got away. And here I am…Juan didn’t know what he wanted. He was manipulative”

“You’re manipulative.” Lin smiled and nodded in acquiesce to the man in front of him.

“Yes. But he was a pretender. Juan pretended to be in pain, to need me. He’s the one you should be taking notes on. He has a high-powered perception that he used against me, an acute ability to see the world like I do. He had me fooled. He knew how to be me and he used it against me. Beat me at my own game as it were.”

Chilton narrowed his eyes, trying to let go of the feeling that Juan sounded like he had an eerily familiar pathology as the man he shared his morning with. “And you loved him?”

“He’s the only one I truly love.” Lin sighed and looked down at his hands. “And that’s why I’m here.”

Chilton unlocked his front door, home at the usual time of 5:30, exhausted from another tedious day at the hospital, compounded by the hangover he had just overcome a couple hours earlier. He placed his jacket and attaché on a side table in the foyer and he ambled his way to the kitchen where Will had left his number and address on a loose sheet of paper. Chilton stared at the numbers, mulling over whether or not to call Will. Charles Lin had rattled him. He didn’t think Will was a pretender, but it was a dangerous game to be playing, engaging with someone who had never had same sex proclivities in the past. Will wouldn’t be the first self-proclaimed straight man to seek out a blowjob from him under the guise that it “doesn’t count” because a mouth is a mouth. Deep in his core, he trusted that Will felt the same, but he still worried about being rejected like he had so many times before by men who were playing at being straight.

Chilton thought better of calling Will and decided against it. Was he being a pretender now? He tried to shake Charles Lin’s words from his mind as he settled on his couch to watch TV. _Maybe tomorrow_ , he thought.


	4. Forward Casting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has his weekly appointment with Dr. Lecter, who begins to suspect Will is keeping something from him.

“Will, come in.” Hannibal Lecter held the door open for Will as he entered the psychiatrist’s grandiose office, both of them moving to sit in their respective chairs. Hannibal observed Will’s usual scents as he brushed by: an anxious musk masked by cheap aftershave and a hint of dogs fur that was so faint it was as if Hannibal could hear them barking from a great distance. Between Will’s natural scent and the aftershave, he smelled something different however. Will had passed by too quickly to get a more thorough analysis, but it was certainly familiar to Hannibal and his interest in it had been immediately piqued.

The two men settled into their chairs. Hannibal had taken a strategy in his therapy of letting Will initiate the conversation, as opposed to probing him for information. Sometimes, Will sat in silence for minutes, looking out the window and purposely avoiding Hannibal’s gaze to relieve himself the pressure of feeling like he needed to talk. Other times, he started a conversation before even sitting down, his frustration with the FBI and Jack Crawford flying out of him like so many fishing lines he cast down the river near his home. Hannibal crossed his legs and stared earnestly at Will, waiting for him to speak and still attempting to dissect the dissipating layers of his fragrance.

Will looked down at his hands, which he clasped and set in his lap. The crime scene he had absconded to that morning wasn’t particularly upsetting to him; it was nothing like The Ripper’s, but most definitely disturbing to the layman who didn’t look at those things regularly. He had been distracted during his classes and snapped at a student who made a sarcastic remark about arson forensics, thinking she’d make a good intern for Brian Zeller to corrupt with unprofessionalism and arrogance. Throughout the day, Will pulled out his phone during breaks to see if he’d gotten a call or text message from Chilton, feeling more and more disappointed as the hours passed into evening. He never understood the games lovers played with each other, the pulling and pushing away, the desire to seem unfazed, the fear behind the rules that were made up when it suited one or the other. He left the power with Chilton; Will still didn’t have his number and the idea of calling the BSHCI seemed uncouth.

“My sleepwalking is getting worse.” Will sighed with relief as he finally broke the silence, a wall that occasionally felt impossible to scale. “And sometimes I’m not sure if I’m dreaming or not.”

“Has work been particularly stressful?” Hannibal shifted in his seat, preparing for a dialogue.

“No more than usual.” Will rubbed his temple. “Jack is pulling me into the field more and more. It’s affecting my classes.”

“You value your ability to educate.”

“Yes. I enjoy the safety of my classroom.” Will pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen from his pocket and dry swallowed a few pills. “But I know I’m doing important work with Jack.”

“You were under the impression that your consulting would end with Garret Jacob Hobbs.”

“I don’t know what impression I was under. Jack never clearly stated how temporary my position with him would be, maybe on purpose. He’s difficult to say no to.”

“And now you’re suffering for it.” That statement cut at Will. He still didn’t want to believe his bad dreams and sleepwalking was a result of his work.

Will paused and looked directly at Hannibal, who stared back with an inquisitive gaze and cocked head. He got up slowly and meandered towards the high narrow windows that spread the soft yellow light of the street lamps outside across his face. Hannibal remained in his chair, waiting for the ideal moment to join him.

“I had a dream about Abigail Hobbs last night,” Will said softly, intentionally avoiding where it was that he woke up. “I was underwater. In the river I fish in. But I didn’t feel like I was drowning. I felt like I was breathing at first.”

“Dreams about breathing underwater suggest a desire to return to the womb, a place of safety where you can be free of responsibilities and focus on your own well-being. Have you been taking care of yourself, Will?”

Will let out a blunt laugh. “I fish and make my lures. And walk my dogs. I don’t know if I would categorize that as self-care, but I get peace of mind.”

“Tell me more about your dream.” Hannibal uncrossed his legs, waiting for Will to become vulnerable enough to warrant him moving closer. “Did you begin to feel like you were drowning?”

“Yes.” Will turned from the window and crossed his arms. “Abigail was with me under the water. I don’t remember much except great clouds of blood erupting from her neck. I’m not sure if she was drowning me or saving me but I was reaching for her anyway.”

Hannibal paused to mull over his evaluation. “In the beginning of this dream, you felt a need for a return to peace, perhaps a time before Abigail. Her drowning with you may be a presage that you are too involved in her life, that your paternal instincts are causing you to lose yourself and your identity. An identity that may be closer to her father’s.”

“I’m nothing like Garret Jacob Hobbs.” Will leaned against the wall and looked down at his shoes. Hannibal finally arose and slowly made his way towards Will, his jacket open and hands in his pockets.

“Except for when you became him, when you empathized with him. You pictured yourself murdering his victims and now you dream about yourself and Abigail drowning. Are you worried that Abigail is going to get away from you?”

“Well, I care about her. I care about her well being.”

“Are you feeling guilty about killing her father?” Hannibal stepped closer standing on the opposite side of the window that Will had settled himself next to.

“No. Killing Garret Jacob Hobbs was the right thing to do.” Will looked directly at Hannibal now, trying to gauge where the conversation was leading.

“Yes, but it was also the wrong thing for you. Garret Jacob Hobbs continues to haunt you and yet you hold on to Abigail, a constant reminder of your darkest instincts. You said you’ve never felt more alive than when you killed him. Do you feel alive now?”

“I feel weary. My waking hours are wasted on death; the hours I spend asleep are wasted on nightmares.”

Hannibal briefly put a hand on Will’s shoulder to offer support, finally close enough to analyze his scent. “Is your work as important to you as it is to Jack Crawford or are you feeling obligation? You speak as if you are being reluctantly dragged to those grotesque scenes, but you defer to a man who pulls you from his menagerie when it suits him best.”

“I know that what I’m doing is incredibly valuable. I save lives.” Will began to feel as if he was trying to convince himself more than Hannibal.

“But is it at the cost of your own? What kind of life are you living now?” Hannibal produced the smallest of smirks when he definitively placed the foreign smell emanating from Will. Yves Saint Laurent Rive Gauche pour Homme, Hannibal catalogued in his mind. Notes of bergamot, star anise, Galac wood, and cloves - sharp and musky with a hint of fresh citrus. The same cologne Frederick Chilton uses.

“One with purpose.” _Also one with Frederick Chilton confounding me_ , Will thought but dared not to speak aloud. _What would Hannibal say if I told him how I spent my morning?_ Will retreated into him, recalling hesitant kisses that turned into desperate moans. He took in a deep breath that filled the entirety of his lungs.

“Your life had purpose before you killed Garret Jacob Hobbs. You’ve taught countless trainees who have gone on to serve and protect.” Hannibal inferred that Will had drifted away somewhere else and was eager to unearth where he had gone.

“Well you know the old saying: Those who can’t do, teach. I couldn’t do. At least until Jack decided I could; too unstable to be an agent, too useful as an agent to worry about being unstable.” Will felt anxiousness pool in his chest and he moved quickly to sit back down, leaving Hannibal to stand and watch him from afar.

Hannibal took on a serious tone. “How unstable do you feel now?”

“If we’re talking right now, I feel relatively stable. Overall? My habit of waking up where I didn’t fall asleep is disconcerting to say the least. Some mornings I wake up in a pool of my own sweat, others I wake up relieved to know I’m awake.”

“What was this morning like?” Hannibal sauntered back to his chair and sat opposite Will. He noticed that Will’s eyes had darted across the room to look out the window, a tell he developed over time that indicates when he’s uncomfortable, a tell he was hoping had something to do with Chilton.

Will tried to hide the stunned look on his face. He felt as if Hannibal had done an intricate routine of conversational acrobatics to end up where he did. _Just lie._ There’s no way he could know about Chilton, unless he called Hannibal to brag. Will chuckled at the thought.

“I woke up from my dream about Abigail frightened at first. But I was able to calm myself down and spent about 3 minutes with my cup of coffee before Jack called me to another scene, the second within 24 hours I might add.”

Hannibal read Will’s expressions and knew he was being secretive, making him even more interested and suspicious of what it could be. “Was the crime scene particularly upsetting?”

“I’ve seen worse,” said Will bluntly. “But it wasn’t how I wanted to start my day regardless.”

“Perhaps consider how you would like to end your day then. The morning was already spoiled and the dark cloud of death has followed you, even into this office. Think about an evening that you’d like to have; something far away from crime scenes. Then take as many steps as necessary to have that kind of night. You can’t keep dwelling on death, you have to reach out to people to help you feel alive.”

Will began to slightly panic thinking that Hannibal had bore inside his head and pieced together that he was with Chilton that morning. He quickly calmed himself knowing that there could be no possible way for Hannibal to know, as he had none of the information needed to arrive at such a conclusion.

“Allow me to cook for you,” said Hannibal. He was quite sure that Will had been with Chilton at some point during the day and based on Will’s odd behavior, we was even more certain that they’d had prolonged physical contact. “I am reaching out to you as a friend. I think it would be therapeutic if you relaxed and enjoyed a good meal with someone you’re already comfortable with. I’ll get to show you another side to me.”

Will smiled with relief. “That sounds great, actually.”

“This Friday at 6:00. Does that work for you?” Hannibal smoothed out his jacket.

“Sure.” Will was already looking forward to having Hannibal cook for him rather than the usual microwave he poked at nearly every night.

“Wonderful. I’m already devising a menu.”

Will departed Hannibal’s office on a better note than when he walked in and Hannibal congratulated himself for the small victory, as well as for correctly identifying Chilton’s pricey cologne. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the contacts, lightly tapping it when he arrived at the right name.

“Hello?” said Chilton as he activated the Bluetooth in his car, which he drove with his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. He heard Hannibal Lecter’s voice inhabit the entire space of it and glanced at the time, thinking it odd that Hannibal was calling past 8:00. He had been too restless to stay at home and now that he had a clear idea of where he was going, he felt more awake.

“Yes, hello Frederick. This is Hannibal.” Even over the phone he sounded self-satisfied.

“Ah, Hannibal. What can I do for you?” Chilton merged onto the interstate, headed south towards Virginia.

“I was hoping you could join me for dinner this week. I’m feeling inspired to share a meal with a friend.” Hannibal sat at his desk and opened his ledger, following his finger to Friday evening. He took a fountain pen and began scratching in impeccable handwriting, _Dinner with Will._

“I’m sure I can make it. When?” Chilton took a deep breath, hoping to ease his anxieties, which tightened in his chest.

“Would this Friday at 6:00 fit in with your schedule?” Hannibal held the tip of his pen centimeters from the drying ink.

“Absolutely.” Chilton was in rush to get off the phone. Hannibal brought his pen back down, adding _and Frederick_. He smirked.

“Wonderful. I’m already devising a menu.”

Chilton was unsure of what he was doing, why he was driving to Will’s house instead of doing the more sensible thing and calling him, if only to alert him that he was coming over. He had looked at his phone all day, debating whether or not to call or text, but each time he picked it up he found another excuse to put it back down. Every time he started typing he felt like he was writing a formal email, making him feel like he sounded too uptight.

So why was he pulling into Will’s driveway? As gravel crunched beneath his tires, Will popped his head out the door, squinting at Chilton’s headlights. He stepped onto the porch as the lights went out and quickly identified the man coming towards him.

“I assure you I’m not sleepwalking.” Chilton flashed a sheepish grin at how cheesy the line was. “I guess I should have called.”

“That would have been ideal, but it’s good to see you. I was worried you weren’t going to.” Will crossed his arms across his shivering chest which was only covered by a thin shirt. “Come in.”

Chilton tentatively walked up the stairs and followed Will inside. He immediately noticed his several dogs, a couple of which had bombarded him at the door. He shooed them off his legs as Will commanded the others to lie down. Chilton stepped fully into the room as he took his coat off, throwing it on an empty chair. He moved closer to Will, who firmly planted himself against a wooden pillar that supported his cabin’s roof.

“I, um. Kept getting distracted and I kind of lost track of time.” Chilton let out a sigh and continued. “Maybe I thought I’d surprise you this time.”

Will arched his back to stretch into the wood he was propped against, causing his hips to slightly jut out, drawing attention to his groin. He relaxed and his hips went back to their previous position, oblivious to the effect it had on the other man. “Well, I’m glad you did. I was distracted all day, checking my phone every 20 minutes. I thought you were ignoring me.”

“Please, I was worried I’d be bothering you. I’m too neurotic make the first move anyway. I’m always worrying I sound like an idiot.”

“You shouldn’t second guess yourself so much, Frederick.” Will moved to sit on the couch in front of his fireplace. Chilton soon followed and sat next to him. “I have a feeling you’re your biggest critic.”

Chilton settled into his seat to find a comfortable position. “Yes. I suppose that’s true. It probably holds me back more than I’d like to admit. Perfectionism coupled with doubt leads to a lot unneeded stress.” He immediately thought of the hospital and how he drives himself mad trying to find the perfect balance between acting as a doctor and administrator, often feeling like he fails at both.

“Unneeded stress. I am dealing with too much of that right now.” Will rested his head on the couch cushion. “Jack brought me to four crimes scenes this week, two of them one right after the other.”

“You shouldn’t have to put up with that. I don’t think it’s good for you.” Chilton moved to look at him. “I don’t know much about the situation, but you seem to spend a lot of time worrying about it.”

“I do. I worry about how it’s affecting me, my classes, how it seems to be all I talk about. You know, Jack gave me an out. He told me I could quit, but I didn’t.” Will brought a hand to his forehead, massaging it. “If I quit, I’d know there are people out there I could have saved who died due to my selfishness. If I don’t quit, I might completely lose it. Either way, I don’t feel great about the situation.”

“Well first off, if you did quit, you can’t beat yourself up over the actions of others. You wouldn’t be killing those people, Will. Placing that responsibility on yourself doesn’t do you any favors.”

Will sighed and turned his head to face Chilton, who looked back at him earnestly. “I’m tired of talking about this. I feel like it’s the only thing I do.”

“Well let’s talk about something else.” Chilton smiled. “But not work. Let’s not talk about your work or my work. We should talk about nice things.”

“Nice things,” Will chuckled. “Like puppies and sunshine? Maybe some rainbows?”

Chilton playfully hit Will’s shoulder, feeling a brief moment of excitement at how natural it felt to touch him. “No. Talk about things you like. Tell me about –“ he searched around the room, his eyes landing on Will’s fly fishing lures, “those.”

“What, my lures? Those aren’t anything special.” Will peered at the current lure he was working on. He had been debating which type of feather to use, leaving it unfinished in it’s vise. “Just a way to keep myself busy and away from work.”

“Don’t justify your own hobby and certainly don’t be modest about it; those are really beautiful.”

Will smirked, slightly self-conscious at the compliment. “Do you fish?”

“A very long time ago. But that was deep sea fishing.” Chilton closed his eyes, remembering the salty winds of the Atlantic Ocean. “I used to spend summers at the Outer Banks of North Carolina when I was growing up. My mother would go fishing with my grandfather every single year up until he lost his eyesight. I went with them a few times, you know, to have three generations on the seas, but I kept getting seasick. I did catch a good amount of bluefish when I wasn’t puking overboard.”

“That’s a huge benefit of river fishing. No need for Dramamine.” Will stared off into the fireplace. “My father and I moved around a lot, but there were always rivers to fish in. I still remember the first time I fished with him. I was eleven and we just moved to Biloxi. I spent a lot of time watching my father make lures and kept begging him to take me fishing with him until finally, he brought me to the Mississippi River and it was so big that I got nervous I’d be swept away downriver and go over a waterfall without a barrel to curl up in. But I stood next to my dad; the water was gentle and when I caught my first fish, I was so excited I fell face first in the water trying to grab it.”

Will smiled and sighed. It was nice to think about those memories; they were some of the best ones he had. Despite always being the new kid, he found comfort in knowing that rivers stayed the same. He glanced over at Chilton, who grinned back at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” Chilton swung his arm up on the couch cushion and rest his cheek on a closed fist. “It’s good to see you look so peaceful.”

Stillness settled between them as they stared at each other, their smiles slowly fading into anticipation. Will brought a hand to Chilton’s face and stroked his thumb across stubble. Chilton leaned his head as Will moved his hand to his neck, pulling Chilton closer and resting their foreheads together. Chilton lifted his chin and their parted lips met, as they exhaled into each other.

Chilton placed his hand on Will’s thigh, lightly rubbing it as Will scooted closer. He felt a shock of pleasure shoot through him as Will did the same in return. Their tongues found a steady rhythm, slow at first but growing more frantic as both men felt the twinge of an erection growing. Will, overcome with passion, straddled Chilton and kissed him deeply as he was tightly pulled into the other man’s embrace. Chilton ran his fingertips up and down Will’s back, yanking at the bottom of his shirt, struggling to take it off. Will broke away from him and helped him remove it, revealing smooth alabaster skin. Chilton caressed Will’s naked chest, in awe of the beautiful man that was wrapped around him. He drew his mouth to Will’s neck and nibbled at it, feeling Will’s erection harden on his stomach as his own continued to grow stiffer. Their mouths found each other again.

Will pulled away and looked down at Chilton’s pants, seeing the outline of his strained erection. Chilton locked eyes with him. “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. We can just keep doing this –“

“No, I – um. I don’t really know what I’m doing. I’ve never, uh- you know” Will scrunched his face.

“Been with a man?” Chilton smirked and gave Will a short kiss. “We can take things slow. But don’t worry. It’s pretty easy, like riding a bike.”

Will let out a giant laugh. He looked into Chilton’s eyes, bright and heavy lidded. “You’re just – you’re going to have to bear with me.”

Chilton kissed him sweetly. “I don’t mind. I’ll bear with you as long as you need me to.”

Will’s hands migrated to the bottom of Chilton’s shirt as they resumed kissing, pulling it off in a single motion. With tentative but willing hands, Will began to unfasten Chilton’s pants, his wrist brushing across his hardness. He recoiled slightly, still anxious about his inexperience, but unzipped the fly nonetheless. Chilton hooked his thumbs into the waistline of his pants and wriggled them free from under him, his cock tenting his boxers.

Will froze. He rested his palm on Chilton’s cock, sending shudders through the man’s body. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay,” Chilton whispered. He reached down and freed his erection and wrapped Will’s hand around it, keeping his own hand on top of Will’s. The initial feeling of it almost made him cum right there, but he sharply inhaled to regain control over himself. He began guiding Will’s hand up and down, the two of them working in tandem. Will was grateful for Chilton’s steering, as he grew accustomed to the odd familiarity he felt in handling Chilton’s cock. He spent enough time touching his own to know what feels good. With newfound confidence, Will took the lead and sped up his pumping as Chilton took his hand away to firmly grasp the couch cushions, letting out a satisfied groan. He threw his head back, his neck exposed for Will to kiss and lick at while he continued stroking.

It didn’t take long for Chilton to cum. It spurted onto his stomach and into Will’s hand as he gasped and panted, feeling waves of pleasure wash over him. Will lay his head on Chilton’s shoulder, his body rising and falling gently with Chilton’s breathing, feeling proud of the effect he had on him. Chilton wrapped his arms around Will, hugging him tightly with eyes squeezed shut.

Will nuzzled his neck. “Do you want to stay over?” Chilton ran his fingers through the dark curls on Will’s head.

“Just promise you won’t sleepwalk onto the interstate,” he grinned, pulling Will in for one more kiss. He paused to look into Will’s wintery blue eyes. “You’re really amazing, you know that?”

Will beamed as he got off of Chilton’s lap, pulling him back to lie on the couch with him, finally feeling serene for the first time in a long while. He thought back to Hannibal Lecter’s advice, about how he should reach out to others and find a way to stop dwelling on death. This was a good way to start.


	5. Le dîner des Actes d'Accusation et Confessions Gracieuseté de Hannibal Lecter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the night Hannibal had been waiting for arrived, providing him with more entertainment than he could have imagined.

Will heard dogs barking far away beneath the roar of a hurricane ravaging frothing seas. A chilly wind whipped against his body, bringing him closer to waking but paralyzing him simultaneously. The barks got louder and closer as his eyes twitched open, the blinding whiteness of cool grey skies causing tears to form at their brims. The barks crept up behind him and the noise fully jolted him out of his half-sleeping state, revealing that he was standing on the roof above his porch, a window open with his dogs competing to push their heads closer to their master behind him. He looked down at his feet, assessing his location, finally gazing at his property while his mind caught up with him; the wide-open expanse overrun by yellow husks of dead field grass and dull, bare trees fully revived him from his stupor. He ducked through the window, glancing at the clock. He was running late and had no time to ruminate on the circumstances in which he began his morning.

As he hastily pulled on a rumpled outfit, he mentally catalogued his tasks for the day: Morning lectures, faculty meeting, shooting range, dinner with Dr. Lecter. Despite his reservations when it came to the questionable ethics of dining with one’s unofficial psychiatrist, Will was still very much looking forward to the meal. He glanced at an empty tray of Marie Callender’s macaroni and cheese sitting on the counter top and lamented his poor diet. He used to cook simple, healthy meals, but stress and lack of sleep left him turning to the convenience of frozen food at the end of the day. He poked at the paunch he was developing on his belly before rushing out the door.

The grey clouds that greeted Will when he awoke had cleared away, drenching his car in sunlight as he sped towards Quantico. Drive time radio morphed to static as he retreated into his thoughts. He thought about how he hadn’t seen Chilton since Sunday, how they spent the weekend together uninterrupted by murder, and how smitten he’d become. The rapidness at which their courtship was unfolding left Will scrutinizing himself at a microscopic level when he was alone; perhaps it was because they were deeply lonely men that there was such intensity between them or maybe their connection was one of those rare human moments that act as columns for epic love stories to be built upon. Either way, as each day passed Will questioned it less and less, especially in Chilton’s absence. He grinned at every rudimentary text message he received from the other man and missed the weight of his head on his chest as they slept. Chilton clung to him at night, even with body heat and cold sweat emanating from him. Will’s ability to see the world through others’ eyes only made his attachment to Chilton even stronger as he recognized himself looking back in a mirror when he assumed his point of view; they were both guarded, solitary people who had an arsenal of defenses to keep an unnerving world at bay.

Will felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and quickly yanked it out, smiling when he saw it was a text from Chilton. He opened the message at a red light, which simply read “TGIF!” Will had been buried in grading midterms all week and despite the groan worthy expression, he did indeed thank god it was Friday. Spending every night trying to speed through the exams left him little to no time to even chat with Chilton over the phone which made his grading all the more tedious. Will let out a sigh of relief when he reached Quantico with 15 minutes to spare before his fist lecture.

Chilton stared aimlessly at the clock in his office. The week passed slowly and tortuously as rumors rapidly began to circulate that he attempted and failed at using psychic driving on Abel Gideon. He was short with the staff and curt with patients, making him look guiltier, a rookie mistake, especially for a psychiatrist. Snickers and smirks plagued him, leaving him no choice but to hide in his office and scour over recordings of the goings on in his hospital. Of course, it was Gideon himself who was spreading the (true) rumor, Chilton quickly discovered. The worst part about it was how eager the orderlies and other on-staff psychiatrists were to believe a man who slaughtered his wife and her family on Thanksgiving. _Another testament to my overwhelming popularity in this hell hole_ , Chilton thought as he ripped his headphones off, too frustrated to finish listening to the latest installment of Abel Gideon’s Greatest Hits.

He placed his laptop on the table near his couch and lie down, contemplating sneaking out early. Instead, his mind meandered towards Will and their weekend together. He was floored by how much time they had spent laughing. He found Will quite humorless at their initial meeting but the more he stopped talking about Jack Crawford and his plights with the FBI, the more time he spent smiling. Chilton delighted in how surprisingly clumsy Will was, taking every opportunity to throw sarcastic remarks like “You do realize there’s a counter in this kitchen, right?” and “You should clear your house of all furniture” anytime Will stubbed a toe or jammed himself on a table corner. Even more delightful was how receptive Will was to exploring each other’s bodies. Of course, they were still taking it slow; Chilton continued to guide Will through this experimental period. He let Chilton watch him jerk off a few times, one session getting Chilton so aroused he couldn’t help but suck him off. Will continued to improve using his hands on Chilton, taking every orgasm he granted him as a personal victory.

Chilton was desperate for Will to fuck him. He didn’t voice his desire out of courtesy of Will’s education, but he still fantasized all week about Will fucking him in every position under the sun, having his hair pulled and being restrained, and telling Will that he could do whatever he wanted to him.

He shook off those thoughts as soon as he felt himself beginning to grow hard. As much as he wanted to reach into his pants and stroke himself, the anxiety he felt about getting caught was too overwhelming. The entire hospital would make fun of him even more than they already did and the risk outweighed the benefit. Shooting up from his position, he decided to leave for the day so he could go home and touch himself in private.

Hannibal Lecter was looking forward to dinner. Will’s involvement with Chilton enchanted him, as it was the oddest and least expected outcome of his manipulation he could have imagined. Hannibal experimented with using a form of hypnosis on Will, a practice he took up after watching (and smelling) Will’s encephalitis worsen. In its early stages, Hannibal recited the addresses of Will’s various colleagues just out of curiosity. In one session, Will made a passing comment about his distaste for Frederick Chilton, prompting Hannibal to toss his address into Will’s head for fun. He couldn’t be entirely sure Will unknowingly arrived at Chilton’s doorstep at any time, but it certainly filled in the blanks as to how they could have so quickly become friendly, especially after Will let slip that he woke up in Baltimore in their last therapy session. Hannibal smiled as he shucked oysters, placing them on ice in preparation for that evening’s meal. He thought it would be amusing to comprise a meal of several ingredients that are known aphrodisiacs: Oysters, chocolate, pomegranate, figs, and civet coffee to name a few. He was excited to see what conversations and behaviors would unfold at his dinner table.

Hannibal hadn’t spent a lot of time pondering Will’s sexuality. In fact, he thought it quite solidified after Will drove an hour in the snow just to tell him that he kissed Alana Bloom. Hannibal knew he was walking a tightrope with Will: He needed his emphatic trust and love and although he had thought about using sex as a means to achieve that, he feared it would drive Will away from him. Hannibal enjoyed sex, but he always used it as a means to an end, to help keep his freedom intact. For that reason, gender didn’t matter. Plus, what was the benefit in limiting himself? If he needed to hold onto freedom at all costs, every tool of manipulation was vital, including sex.

Chilton on the other hand, he could care less about his sexuality. Hannibal often invited him for dinner because Chilton amused him. His desperate attempts at being the same caliber psychiatrist as Hannibal merely highlighted how jealous he was. Chilton reminded him of a cat, putting on airs of regality and superiority, only to scratch and whine at Hannibal’s door when he yearned for companionship. He was just another small animal that Hannibal would have no qualms about putting down when the time came.

Chilton stood griping outside Hannibal’s door holding a bottle of expensive wine from his own reserve. He was 30 minutes early and felt embarrassed by it, thinking he may come off too ardent and needy. He rang the doorbell regardless while assuring himself that being early is always better than being late.

“Frederick, you are quite early,” Hannibal said after swinging the door open.

“My need to be punctual borders on pathological at times, I’m afraid. I’ve always operated under the assumption that it’s better to be early than late.” Chilton pursed his lips and strolled through the threshold, following Hannibal to his immaculate kitchen.

“Then I hope you won’t protest to acting as my sous chef.” He smirked at Chilton, satisfied at yet another act of dominance over the man. “I see you brought a bottle of wine.”

“Yes. I have plenty of bottles in my cellar and not enough opportunities to share.” Chilton winced at having said that as they entered the kitchen. Did he really need to divulge that he didn’t have many friends? “I’ve been too busy it seems.”

Hannibal took the wine from Chilton’s hands and eyed the label. “Excellent selection, Frederick. A very good vintage as well.”

“I’m hoping it will pair nicely with tonight’s courses.” Frederick smiled at being able to impress. “What are we starting with?”

“Oysters and pearls – a sabayon of pearl tapioca with Chesapeake oysters and sturgeon caviar.” Hannibal handed Chilton a whisk and mixing bowl containing a sauce that resembled hollandaise. “If you could mix this please.”

“And what else do you have planned for the menu?” Chilton began whisking gingerly, careful to avoid getting his sleeves soiled.

“All in good time, Frederick.” Hannibal glanced up from his preparations to smile warmly. He wondered how flavorful Chilton’s liver might be and what wine would pair best with it.

The two men worked across from each other, chatting about Hannibal’s recent article in the Journal Of Abnormal Psychology and how it’s theories may come in useful to Chilton’s work at the hospital. Chilton hid how grateful he was for the advice under his usual smarminess, engineering the conversation in such a way to suggest that he came up with some original theories of his own. Hannibal smiled at Chilton’s feeble attempt to do so, easily recognizing that the man was merely repeating whatever he said and rearranging the words and sentiments to seem like fresh ideas. Once again, Frederick Chilton was completely predictable.

“Frederick, why don’t you go wait in the dining room while I plate. I pride myself in my presentation and I wouldn’t want you to see any part of this dish unfinished.”

“Of course,” he said. “The art is just as important as the taste, I suppose.”

He showed himself to the dining room and meandered around it, immediately noticing that there was three places set at the table. He furrowed his brow, wondering why Hannibal wouldn’t tell him there would be another guest but was quickly distracted by the ostentatious décor that sat on the table. The immense centerpiece had bird skulls placed amid dark flowers and strings of pearls. _Okay_ , Chilton thought as he shifted his eyes, _very odd_. He searched for other things to look at around the room and his eyes landed on a painting of Leda And The Swan above the fireplace. He squinted, stepping closer to examine it.

_I will never understand this painting or why it’s in a dining room_. Chilton stared at the naked Leda who sat on a chaise lounge, her legs spread wide open, revealing the rose colored folds of her nether region. A swan sat next to her with its head inches away from her opening, peering at it. _Maybe she has club crackers jammed up her twat_ , he thought, chuckling at his own turn of phrase.

A ring of the doorbell confirmed a third guest and Chilton grew curious as to whom it could be. He desperately hoped it wouldn’t be Jack Crawford, not only because Crawford clearly didn’t respect him (especially after Chilton was unsuccessful in helping catch the Ripper two years previously) but because he harbored just as much resentment, if not more, than Will did towards him for torturing his lover with morbid frescos and calculated guilt tripping. He heard footsteps clatter towards the room as a well-known voice barreled towards him, striking instant uneasiness.

“For some reason, I was worried Jack would call me to a scene. Maybe because I’ve been looking forward to this and –“ The unmistakable voice of Will Graham halted as he walked in and saw Chilton staring back at him with wide eyes. Hannibal carried their first course with him, expertly balancing two plates on one arm while holding the third in his other hand. “Ah. Um. Dr. Chilton. Good to see you again.”

Chilton winced and cleared his throat. “Yes, good to see you too…Mr. Graham.”

“Mr. Graham is my father’s name.” Will smiled. “Call me Will.”

“Of course.” Chilton said breathlessly as he sat opposite him.

Even for an expert at hiding his emotions, Hannibal was having a hard time not grinning over the awkward interaction between his two guests as he set down the plates. “Oysters and pearls with a sabayon sauce and sturgeon caviar.” He paused to sit down. “I hope you don’t mind the ambush.”

“Not at all,” Will said dryly. “Just confused by why it was a secret.”

Hannibal chuckled. “Merely a little fun between friends. I’ve sensed you could both benefit from adding more friends to your social circles as of late.”

“Hmm, how so Hannibal?” Chilton was annoyed at how easily Hannibal could read him.

“Will has been consulting with the FBI on top of teaching full time. Very nasty cases, as you know. Abel Gideon’s is just one of many. And Frederick, I’ve heard rumors circulating about you utilizing psychic driving in Dr. Gideon’s therapy. That must be unwieldy and perhaps isolating.”

Will glanced at Chilton, hoping that wasn’t true. “Psychic driving is unethical,” Chilton retorted as he dabbed the corners of his mouth with a crisp white napkin.

“Yes. It is,” Will said curtly. Flashes of their first meeting came flooding back to him as he remembered what a hack psychiatrist Chilton was. Will grew queasy remembering this side of Chilton that chagrined him so.

“But reasonable in certain circumstances.” Hannibal pulled the conversation towards him, hoping to drive a wedge between the two men at his dinner table. “It may have been useful in reminding Gideon that he is the Chesapeake Ripper, if he repressed those memories. But he seems to have come to that awareness all by himself.”

Chilton exhaled loudly and flashed a strained smile. “Yes. Yes, he has.”

Hannibal rose and began clearing plates. “Excuse me while I prepare the next dish.”

Will and Chilton waited until Hannibal was fully out of earshot before staring incredulously at each other, waiting for one or the other to speak.

“This is all very suspicious, Will.” Chilton set his silverware down and leaned back in his chair.

“Are you talking about the fact that Dr. Lecter invited us here without mentioning we wouldn’t be having a private dinner with him? Because, yes, that is very suspicious.”

“It makes me wonder if you’ve said anything to him in your therapy sessions.” Chilton crossed his arms, anger beginning to creep beneath his collar. He lowered his voice, saying “Did you tell him about us?”

Will pursed his lips, trying to remain levelheaded. “I don’t appreciate your tone, Frederick…or the accusation. What benefit could possibly come from telling him about us?”

“I’m not sure. But how else would Hannibal know if you didn’t tell him?” Chilton grew flustered and sneered at Will. “He dodged your question as to why he didn’t tell either of us that we’d both be here. The most logical explanation would be that you mentioned something, maybe even in passing and that now he knows.”

“I did not say anything and I’m a little pissed off that you don’t believe me, to be perfectly honest. How do I know you didn’t say something?” Will squinted his eyes at Chilton, clenching his jaw as aggravation began taking over.

“Hah!” Chilton leaned forward. “Why the hell would I say something? What good could possibly come out of that?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

Chilton lowered his voice and spoke slowly and deliberately. “Occam’s razor, Will. The simplest explanation tends to be the right one, which means one of us is lying.”

“Is that a confession, Frederick?” Will quickly imagined Chilton calling Hannibal to dish juicy gossip on his most fascinating patient. I wouldn’t put it past him to brag to Hannibal; maybe thinking it would impress him.

“Is that a deflection, Will?” Chilton cleared his throat, signaling that Hannibal was reentering the room.

Hannibal placed an ornamental and stylish plate in front of his guests. “Salmis de Faisan avec Figues aux Senteurs d'Armagnac. A pheasant casserole with brandy soaked figs accompanied by foie gras and truffle; a rustic dish originating from Les Midi-Pyrénées of France.”

Chilton flashed a smug grin, erasing any sign of anger. “It looks stunning. I’ll admit I haven’t had pheasant before.”

“I’m glad to have introduced it to you. Salmis originated as a recipe for left over game bird that had already been roasted. Stewing it in wine leaves the meat tender, always a difficult consistency to achieve with lean game such as pheasant.” Hannibal took a small bite, relishing in the complex and layered flavors.

“Delightful. I always learn something new at your dinner table, Hannibal.” Chilton raised his wine glass and bowed his head slightly. “My compliments.”

Will broke his silence, worried that his withdrawal from the conversation would raise suspicion. “This is delicious.”

Hannibal smiled at his two guests, relishing in the strained tenor that had overcome his table in his absence.

As the meal continued, Will withdrew more and more, leaving Chilton feeling he had to do twice the work in meal time conversation. He grew increasingly pretentious and sycophantic, eagerly trying to impress and flatter Hannibal. Will sat across from him, fuming at his behavior and accusations, replaying their private conversation incessantly in his head. In Hannibal’s brief trips to the kitchen, Will stayed silent, his eyes shifting around the room to avoid Chilton’s glares. Hannibal could hear that there was nothing to hear each time he quietly reentered the dining room, giving him even more evidence that the other two men were having an affair.

At last, to both Will and Chilton’s relief, dessert was served. Hannibal took his seat for the last time. “Pomegranate soufflé with a Noka chocolat drizzle and cardamom pear sorbet.”

Will was always a sucker for sweets and the light, airy texture of the soufflé paired with rich dark chocolate danced on his taste buds, slightly elevating his mood. He stared at his dish as he ate, too worried that if he looked up at Chilton, his anger would become visible to Hannibal. Chilton and Hannibal continued to talk, musing on the goings on in the arts community of Baltimore, delighting in the recent news that The Walters Art Museum was awarded a $913k grant, giving it an opportunity to expand it’s exhibits. Even if Will were in the mood to talk, he would have little to add to conversation; his knowledge of the art world went no further than Antiques Road Show.

“I thank you both for sharing this meal with me,” said Hannibal, pulling Will out of his daze. “I’ve had a lovely time and would again love to have both of you for dinner.”

Hannibal lead the other two men to the front door, wringing hands with Chilton and giving Will a small pat on the shoulder as they exited. He slowly closed the door, watching Will storm to his car with Chilton trying to catch up to him, shutting it fully as Chilton hollered, “Will! Where are you going?” 

“I’m going home before I end up wringing your damn neck.” Will spat out as he reached his car.

“Oh, wonderful! Threats of violence! That’s incredibly mature.” Chilton swooped in front of Will, blocking his car door.

“I wouldn’t test me right now, Frederick. Please move.”

“I will not. Not until we revisit the conversation we had inside.” Chilton leaned back on the door, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow.

“No thank you. I’d like to go home and…pet my dogs.” If he weren’t so angry, he would have laughed at how ridiculous that statement sounded.

Chilton backed away, his eyes beginning to water. “Fine. If you prefer to run away, then I won’t stop you.” He darted away to his own car and slammed the door, the sound of it echoing down the dark avenue.

Will did the same and watched Chilton speed away, his tires squealing against asphalt. He didn’t turn the ignition though. He sat there for a few minutes to collect his thoughts, letting out a large sigh to calm his nerves. Finally, he pulled out from his parking space, ready to make the drive back to Wolf Trap. He hit the interstate and its bright lights caused his eyes to glaze over, adding to an already distracted mind. Ten minutes had passed before he realized he missed his exit, forcing him to take the next one to double back. As he approached the correct turn off, he decided to speed past it, compelled to make his way back to Baltimore; back to Chilton.

Chilton dragged his feet over the threshold of his front door, growing more despondent by the evening’s proceedings. The silver lining was that his belly was full and satisfied from an exquisite meal, but it was nearly spoiled by Will’s accusations and perceived lies. _How dare he_ , he thought as he plopped down on his couch, flipping his dress shoes off forcefully. The left one was particularly difficult to remove as the pair was brand new and not broken in; he kicked it off hard enough to fling it across the room, hitting a window with a thud that sounded like an oblivious bird careening towards certain death, tricked by the transparency of clean glass. He sat for no more than 5 minutes before he heard his doorbell ring. _I swear to god, if that is Will, I will slam the door in his fucking face_.

Of course, he didn’t when he saw that it was indeed Will on his doorstep. Instead, he only opened it enough to stick his head out. “What do you want?”

“I want to finish our conversation is what I want.” Will barged in and pushed Chilton aside.

“Excuse you! I didn’t invite you in,” he said with exasperation.

“Do I look like I care?” Will stormed into the living room. “I’m furious that you think I’m lying.”

Chilton swiftly followed him. “I’m furious that you’re accusing me of something as completely ridiculous as talking about us with Hannibal Lecter, of all people.”

“Why shouldn’t I? You spend enough time kissing his ass to warrant at least a modicum of suspicion.” Will stepped closer to the other man, puffing his chest out to assert dominance. “What is it with you and him? Why are you so happy to stroke his ego? And yours! Sitting at that table listening to you brag and preen made me sick to my stomach.”

“You know, I really resent that, Will!” Chilton was bellowing now. “You know that’s all a façade! You know it’s not me. I’m just putting on a show for him. Do you know how many people hate me? Hannibal is one of my only friends and he loves the attention, so if “kissing his ass” is what it takes for him to spend any time with me at all, then of course I’m going to do that.”

Will closed the gap between them, only a foot away from Chilton. “That’s pretty disgusting you know, being so fake like that. What? Are you worried he’s going to dump you?”

He knew that was a low blow and watched absolute fury wash over Chilton’s face, his body tensing up with clenched his fists. He felt gratification in pulling those emotions from him, feeling like he was the victor. Chilton was too flabbergasted to defend himself and he sat there locking his eyes with Will. Beneath his anger however, he reveled in the other man’s body language: his cold self-satisfied expression, his swelling chest, his stature towering over him despite only being a few inches taller. The dominance this man exuded was palpable and exciting, causing Chilton’s heart to race faster than it already was. Will stepped closer to him still, feeling a tension grow that buzzed with electricity. His anger slightly subsided as he stared at the man in front of him whose body began to shift from rage to arousal. He instantly knew that his brutishness awoke something in the other man, seeing desperation in his eyes. He admitted to himself that the effect he was having turned him on, that his commanding kinesics were mesmerizing to Chilton.

With a forceful hand, he pulled Chilton into him by the back of his neck, kissing him hard enough to bruise his lips. Chilton let out a whimper as Will shoved his tongue into his mouth deeply and furiously. Chilton kept up with his pace, rapidly growing hard at the feeling of Will taking control. Will grabbed him by the neck and pushed him against the wall, squeezing the air out of him. He moaned, reveling in finally getting to be submissive to Will.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” Will said, pulling away from him. He yanked Chilton’s head back by his hair. “You want me to fuck you.”

Chilton nodded. “Yes,” he panted. All of Will’s trepidations melted away, every nerve in his body set on fire with the need to completely dominate this man. “Please.”

Will kissed him again hard. “Get upstairs. Now.”

Chilton exhaled loudly and nearly sprinted to the stairs. Will came barreling up behind, grabbing Chilton’s shirt and pushing him down onto the steps, bringing him to all fours. Chilton yelped in surprise, jamming his pinky finger into the crook of a step. The sting of it was nothing compared to the throbbing erection that painfully strained against his pants.

Will got on all fours on top of him, still clutching the back of his shirt causing the buttons to strain against the other man’s abdomen. “Tell me how badly you want it. Beg for it.”

“Fuck, Will. Don’t do this to me. I just need you to fuck me. Please.” 

“I told you to beg for it.” Will said in a low and calm voice.

“I am begging for it! God, I’m begging for it, please. Just fuck me before I lose my mind.”

“Okay, good. That’s very good, Frederick.” Will’s calculated and placid tone sent shivers up Chilton’s spine. He felt Will loosen his grip and get off of him. “Go.”

Chilton scurried up the rest of the stairs, Will following slowly behind him. He watched as Chilton began removing articles of clothing before even reaching the top. Will did the same, strewing his shirt, shoes, and belt on the stairs. He entered the dark room, seeing Chilton’s naked silhouette on the other side of the room. He removed his pants and boxers, freeing his cock and waited for Chilton to come to him.

“Why are you all the way over there? Come here. Right now,” Will growled. Chilton hurried over, going in for another passionate kiss, but Will grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him down to his knees before he could. “Suck.”

Chilton looked up at him, barely seeing the glint in his eyes looking down at him, piercing him. He whimpered at the demand and obediently took Will’s cock in his mouth. He had barely bobbed his head back and forth before Will pulled Chilton’s hair so hard that he couldn’t move his head, trying to coordinate his breathing as Will began to fuck his mouth. Will grunted and thrust hard, causing Chilton to gag and slobber while stroking his own cock in the meantime. Will pulled the other man’s head back, retreating from his mouth.

“You want me to fuck you so badly, don’t you?” He pulled Chilton’s hair harder.

“YES. How many times do I have to fucking say it?” he sobbed, clawing at Will’s thighs.

“You’ll have to say it again.”

“I want you to fuck me so badly. I need you to.” Will let go of Chilton’s head and lightly wrapped his hand around his neck.

“Again.”

“JUST FUCK ME, PLEASE WILL. I’M BEGGING YOU, PLEASE.” He sat there on his knees stroking his cock and on the verge of tears. The pathetic sight of it made Will let him go to dash to his nightstand, grabbing a condom and lube from a drawer he pulled open haphazardly. Will came up behind him and pulled his hips back to rub his cock against the small of Chilton’s back, causing him to throw his head back in bliss. Will’s hand migrated to Chilton’s cock, tightly gripping it as he palmed and pumped. The two men’s mouths met again as Chilton shoved the condom into Will’s free hand. He turned to face him and nibbled at his neck for a brief moment of time before Will pushed him down onto the bed. Chilton lie down and closed his eyes, soaking up the moment as Will rolled the condom on his throbbing prick. As he climbed on top for Chilton, he held his shoulders down, kissing him gently and slowly that time.

“Oh, god.” Chilton sighed as Will began kissing and sucking his neck. Chilton spread his legs as Will thrust against his cock, eliciting a ragged moan. “Okay. Just. Oh, yes. Ah, let me just, ah. Get ready.”

Chilton tilted his hips back and spread his legs completely while he squirted some lube onto his fingers. He gave the bottle to Will, who slathered his cock in it while Chilton rubbed some on his opening. “Okay. Okay. Do it. Slowly though.”

Will grabbed his cock and pushed it little by little into Chilton, gasping at how tight his hole was. He restrained himself from thrusting too hard as he felt Chilton relax into it from fear of coming to soon; the sensation was blissful and he wasn’t ready for it to be over. Chilton groaned as Will went in deeper, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Finally, Will was buried to the hilt in Chilton’s asshole, ready to pull out and thrust back in. He kissed Chilton sweetly, having had all his anger disappear and resolving to believe what he said about not saying a word to Hannibal about them. He devoured Chilton’s shout as Will began thrusting slowly back and forth, developing an exquisite pace that allowed Will’s cock to brush up against Chilton’s prostate.

As Will thrust faster and faster, Chilton’s orgasm escalated quickly. It had been so long since he’d been properly fucked and the feeling of it was excruciatingly delectable. Will grunted and locked his arms on either side of Chilton’s shoulders, giving him even more access to the other man’s opening. The slight change in position brought Chilton over the edge and he ferociously orgasmed, his cum spurting onto his stomach. His screams of passion motivated Will to give Chilton a few more hard thrusts as he rode out his orgasm, finally reaching his own with fervor. Will loudly moaned Chilton’s name at the peak of his orgasm, coming harder than he had in years. The feeling of it was instantly addictive and he thought about how he never wanted to fuck anybody else ever again if this was how good it was going to be with the man panting beneath him. He pulled out and collapsed on top of Chilton, resting he head in the crook of his neck.

“Thank you,” Chilton said as he stroked his fingers through Will’s hair. “I’m – I just. That was amazing.”

Will smiled and exhaled, nuzzling him. “Yes. It was.” He rolled off of him and pulled Chilton close. “Does that mean you forgive me?”

Chilton laughed. “That depends. Do you believe me?”

“Yes and I’m sorry I doubted you. I don’t know why I thought you’d say anything to Dr. Lecter. Do you believe me?”

Chilton kissed him. “Of course.” He exhaled with satisfaction. “Hannibal Lecter likes to play his own little mind games. Don’t think for a second that I stroke his ego for brownie points. If I keep him on my side, he has no reason to throw me to the wolves. I need that kind of support given my unpopularity.”

“Maybe we’re jumping to conclusions. Maybe he doesn’t know a thing.” Will hugged Chilton tightly.

“Hmm, well I don’t know about you, but I picked up on a theme to this evening’s dinner.”

Will chuckled. “You mean besides the theme of us not talking to each other?”

“Oysters? Figs? Chocolate? All foods tied to sex and fertility. He served us foods that are well known as aphrodisiacs. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

“That’s very astute of you, Frederick. I don’t know what Dr. Lecter is playing at, but if that’s his idea of tampering, then I would let him keep doing it.” Chilton looked down at Will with a soft, content smile, brushing his hair away from his face so he could plant a kiss on his forehead.

“Yes. There are certainly worse ways to manipulate your friends.” Chilton murmured. His eyelids grew heavy as he let out a satisfying yawn. “I’m glad you came over to pick a fight with me.”

Will yawned as well, having caught it from Chilton. “Me too.”


	6. A Totem Of Your Own Making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Chilton's days at work parallel each other in their own distressing ways

“I think I’m finished talking to you today, Dr. Chilton.” Charles Lin looked straight into Chilton’s eyes from his small lockup in the large marble floored room where Chilton conducted his therapy sessions. “Wouldn’t want to be tricked into saying things I don’t mean.”

Chilton stared back, annoyance boiling just beneath the surface. “I see you’ve been talking to Abel Gideon then. Are you aware of his crimes? Because I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.” _I’d love to throw him off a god damn cliff_ , he thought.

“I trust him more than I trust you. Hell, I trust Multiple Miggs more than you.” Lin smiled widely, the large gap in his front teeth becoming very noticeable. “People whisper about you.”

“If by people, you mean the other patients we keep in this hospital, then yes, I’m already aware of that. I know everything that goes on in here.” Chilton began tapping his pen rhythmically on his legal pad, a nervous habit he picked up since being promoted to administrator. Lin squinted his eyes. “I hear you when you cry out for Juan in your sleep. I hear you cry for your mother too. I know how broken up she was that her son ended up a murderer. I’m sorry to hear she passed away during your trial.”

He took a great, measured pause. “How does that make you feel?”

“Is humiliating your patients a psychological tool or are you just a miserable little man with nothing better to do?” Lin crossed his arms and looked away, his eyes beginning to water.

“I’m merely trying to find a correct diagnosis, so we can help you.” Chilton threw Lin a satisfied smile for having angered the man. “If you continue to evade me during therapy, I won’t be able to aid you in your rehabilitation.”

“Does my rehabilitation include admitting that I’m the Chesapeake Ripper? Or should I confess to being the Zodiac Killer? Maybe the Boston Strangler?” He guffawed and leaned forward in his seat. “Your reputation is unraveling, Dr. Chilton. I hear murmurs on the cellblock about truth serums and outdated methodology. You’re a laughing stock.”

“If you think you’re going to hurt my feelings or prompt me to quit, you’re very wrong. While you’re here putting all your faith in psychopaths, I will be enjoying the many pleasures of freedom.” He put the cap on his pen and returned it to a pocket in his blazer. “I’m not here to punish you, Charles. Being in prison for the rest of your life is punishment enough, I believe.”

“Then what are you here for, Dr Chilton? To build some sort of good reputation maybe?” Lin smirked. “I’ve been here only a couple of weeks and I gotta say, I’ve heard nothing but shit talk about you.”

“I know what people say about me in this hospital. I am always listening.” Chilton lowered his chin and stared at his notes. Hearing nothing but insults echoing in the recordings he listened to in private rarely bothered him anymore, as his skin first grew thick in med school when classmates taunted him for an abysmal lack of skill in his preferred field of surgery. By the time he reached his residency as a psychiatrist, he wore a permanent scowl and built himself up as someone much more talented and respected than he truly was. “Trusting a single word of what people like Gideon or Miggs or anyone else imprisoned in here spout out in the middle of the night is a mistake, Charles. It won’t help you.”

Lin sighed deeply, exhaling through his nose. “What’s the point of getting help? I’m already going to rot in prison for the rest of my life. In fact, I think my life would be less tortuous if I didn’t have to be subjected to your ridiculous attempts at being a psychiatrist.”

“Charles, you worked at Magerk’s Pub before being incarcerated, I don’t think you’re an authority on psychiatry. If anyone is manipulating you, it’s Abel Gideon.” Chilton crossed his legs and wore a smug expression. “You should be careful with him. He is a pure sociopath. He’s charming in his own way, he has no remorse, he’s highly intelligent with a grandiose superiority complex, and an ego the size of this city. He will try to isolate you and use you to his advantage. He’s a monster.”

“Aren’t I, too?” Lin’s expression softened. “I’m in here for killing people, just like he is. So I must be a monster, right?”

“I don’t know what you are yet because you continue to fight me. I will tell you one thing: You have the capacity for love. You have expressed that and whether or not the love you feel is the same as that which conventional individuals feel has yet to be seen. You’re in pain; I know it because I’ve heard it and I can see it.”

Lin drew silent, looking past Chilton and realizing that what he said was true.

“You believe you’re making a friend in Abel Gideon, but he would quickly slit your throat with a scalpel as he would pour you a glass of expensive wine.” Chilton felt like he had finally scaled Lin’s high walls. “I could very easily see you falling in love with him and that would be a grave mistake. How do you feel about him?”

“He’s – he’s my friend. We talk at night and it’s nice that our cells are next to each other. I like him very much.” Lin shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Do you have a crush on him?” Chilton took his pen back out and began taking notes.

“Maybe. I’m not sure. He makes me laugh.” Chilton smirked knowing that Gideon’s dry brand of sarcasm was amusing when it wasn’t being directed at him.

“Did he tell you about how he killed a night nurse here? It was completely unprovoked and it seems he did it to boost his own ego. Do you find that funny?”

Lin’s eyes widened with surprise. “No, I don’t find that funny. He didn’t tell me about her.” He paused. “Why did he do it?”

Chilton flared his nostrils and sharply inhaled. He certainly wasn’t going to say that it was a result of his failed attempts at psychic driving. “To prove a point.”

“You talk to me like I haven’t killed anyone myself, Dr. Chilton; like I should judge everyone else in this hospital for what they’ve done except for me.”

“There are different kinds of killing.” Chilton uncrossed his legs and slightly leaned forward. “Charles, I wholeheartedly believe that you thought what you were doing had a purpose, was right in it’s own way. Abel Gideon kills because he feels like it and finds it amusing. Correct me if I’m wrong, but your crimes came from a place of hurt, fear, and love. You lamented and grieved for your victims, yet found solace in their – Ah, what did you call it? – Freedom. ” Chilton sat back, surprised by his own ability. In all his years at the hospital, he never truly felt like he was helping anyone, but Lin was different. Miraculously, Chilton felt like a good psychiatrist, like he was finally living up to the degrees hanging in his office. “Please be honest with me. Do you feel guilty? Even in the slightest?”

Lin looked down at his rough, tanned hands. “Yes. All the time.”

Chilton instructed orderlies to bring Lin to the health clinic to get a “routine check-up” as he left him in his cage. He quickly trekked down the stairs and navigated dark halls that turned at sharp angles until he reached the damp underworld where he kept his most violent and disturbed patients. He passed by Miggs, a thin, ragged looking man in the very first cell who jeered at him, saying, “Dr. Fuck Face is coming everyone! Dr. Fuck Face! How ya doing today Dr. Fuck Face?”

Many of the other patients began smacking the walls and jumping on their beds like apes as he passed them. An orderly yelled, “That’s ENOUGH” as Chilton held his head up, keeping his eyes forward and not giving the barbaric men that laughed at him the satisfaction of seeing any sign of emotion. They all had quieted by the time he finally reached the last cell.

“Dr. Chilton, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Abel Gideon lie on his bed, his hands clasped on his belly. “I always appreciate your social calls.”

“Cut the shit,” Chilton said curtly. He drew a fold out chair from the wall and sat down. “I have no time or desire to play games with you today Abel.”

“Frederick, you’re hurting my feelings.” Gideon shot up and quickly glided to the front of the cell, causing Chilton to involuntarily lean back in his chair out of fear. “Well then, why are you here if not to play Parcheesi with my brain?”

“What are you doing with Charles Lin? He’s very enchanted by you.”

“Ah, Chuck, yes. I’ve grown to like him very much.” Gideon beamed at Chilton. “It’s a pity he’s all the way down here with the _really bad guys_.”

“Whatever game it is you’re playing with him needs to stop.”

“It’s heartwarming that you’re so protective of him, Frederick.” Gideon strolled along the front of his cell, looking at the flat white lights on the ceiling with a pensive expression. “But I have nothing but good intentions when it comes to Chucky boy.”

“So you do have intentions with him?” Chilton raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to discredit me somehow by poisoning patients with lies about my practices?”

“Oh, Frederick, you know they’re not lies. The only lies going on in this hospital are the ones that you tell. Like telling me I’m the Chesapeake Ripper. That was a superb lie.”

Chilton grew quiet as Gideon stared at him deviously. He stood, folded the chair, and placed it back on the wall, doing so without giving Gideon a single glance.

“I’m going to tell everyone who you are Frederick and what you’ve done. You may be the boss in this trifling brig you call a hospital, but I know there are higher ups that you have to answer to and I doubt they will take the matter of your influence on me lightly.”

Chilton moved close to the cell a few feet from Gideon with only a sheet of thick plexiglass between them. He squinted and sneered, “I’d like to see you try.”

“I will, Frederick. I will try very hard and you will lose.” Gideon stepped back with a smirk and sat down on his bed. “I’m exhausted by this conversation, so if you don’t mind I would like it to be over.”

Chilton motioned for two orderlies to join him in front of the cell saying, “I would like you to take Dr. Gideon here to the isolation room.”

“On what grounds?” Gideon said with exasperation. “You’re going to lock me away for being a thorn in your side?”

Chilton stood by wordlessly as the orderlies restrained Gideon, his eyes burning through him like hot coals. As the cell door was shut and the man was dragged away, Chilton regained the composure he nearly lost when Gideon made his threats.

“Enjoy solitary, Abel.”

Jack Crawford’s shoes crunched cold sand and frozen snow beneath them as he approached Will, stopping to stand beside him as Will dry swallowed a few aspirin. The bitter air that whipped their faces blew mercilessly off the Atlantic Ocean; it usually wasn’t this cold in Grafton, West Virginia, but winter had been especially unforgiving that year. Will moved cautiously forward, bracing himself for what Crawford had described as something he’d never seen before. He was sure that whatever bland account of the scene he was about to find would pale in comparison to what it truly was.

A jolt of fear danced through him when he saw the dreadful totem pole of dismembered bodies grow taller as he climbed up and over a dune. From afar, it was mesmerizing; how could a single man construct such a thing, such a towering achievement in mockery? Arms jutted out like the wings of a predatory bird displaying its dominance to the small fleshy animals that skitter away from it in terror. As he grew closer he could see torsos, heads, and limbs in various stages of decay pieced together masterfully like the –

“World’s sickest jigsaw puzzle,” said Brian Zeller as he snapped photographs of the monument before him. He always knew the exact wrong thing to say at a crime scene.

“Yeah, but where are the corners?” Jimmy Price squinted as he surveyed the gruesome obelisk. Will watched them prattling on as Beverly Katz wore an expression that suited the solemnity of the landscape, perplexed and tense. He circled the totem pole, the throbbing in his temples creating a rhythm that bounced around his skull like the beating of timpani drums; it matched the grey-green ambience that surrounded them. Crawford traded theories with Will as they both looked at the headpiece, a recently murdered man broken in half and folded over himself with bloodied hands reaching up at him with deliberation. They presented to Will an intention that Crawford assumed was for the purpose of defiling the men and women who were tied together like old driftwood, but he knew it was the killer revealing himself, basking in his own purpose.

“Okay everybody let’s go, let’s clear the scene,” Crawford bellowed, clapping his hands to hurry the crime scene unit along. They shuffled away awkwardly, some of them murmuring to each other about that Will Graham, the one who does that weird thing. Beverly Katz gave him a concerned look as Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller nodded in his direction when they brushed by. _Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum_ , he thought as the two of them bickered about the best strategy to use when piecing together jigsaw puzzles.

And then he was alone, the totem pole deconstructing itself waiting to be put back together again; desperate to tell him it’s design. He imagined using the limbs like raw material, grinding prickly fibers into unyielding flesh as he yanked rope around them tightly, securing them to the base that they were skewered on. He bragged about the careful and meticulous construction of his commemoration, the love letter he wrote to himself for wondrous achievements in killing. He had planned that moment with precision, waiting decades to unearth corpses from the seven graves that surrounded his celebration, as well as others from cemetery plots yet to be discovered. Will watched a bound and squirming man struggle near him, his body doughy and his screams trapped behind duct tape. He was being saved for last; he was special. He needed to be redacted but only after finally seeing Will’s true nature. I want him to know my design. This is my resume. This is my body of work. **This is my legacy**. 

Will straddled his final victim, positioning the point of a knife directly into plaid protected flesh that stretched over a cage of bones. It concealed a thumping ruby heart waiting to be pierced and drained. In the man’s eyes, he saw pain and fear and pleading. He could read a lifetime of memories in them like a computer deciphering thousands of lines of code; this man was never meant to be. Slowly and deliberately, he pushed the knife into him, his flesh yielding to cold metal that squeezed its way through humming molecules ready to transform into decay. Will felt guilt and horror, but the man he had become in that moment was gleeful and proud. His time had finally come. He was so close to debuting himself and all he needed was to break the man in half the way he had broken him. These men were connected somehow. Will could feel the sticky black poison of hatred crawl through his veins. Why did he despise this man so?

He snapped the man’s back with great difficulty, his body bending like the branch of a sapling. He had to wrap rope around the folded man and pull hard until he finally heard a crack; a large expanse of bruises formed around the man’s abdomen. He was so close, he was almost there, he just needed to tie him onto the very top of the monument before using a pulley to stand it upright. The aches in his joints burned and tears streamed down his cheeks from wind beaten eyes as he hoisted and hoisted and hoisted until finally Will looked up at his creation with great relief. The totem pole was even grander than he had anticipated, it's symmetry and meticulousness unparalleled to anything the world had ever seen before. It was unique, one of a kind, the only truly beautiful thing his life amounted to. He scanned the totem pole from the bottom up until his eyes finally reached it's crowning glory. The face he saw was not of the terrified pudgy man he penetrated with a tranquil blade, but that of Frederick Chilton’s. A dribble of blood fell on his pale cheek like the first droplet of a treppid storm.

“Will, I wasn’t expecting you.” Hannibal Lecter’s voice jolted Will from a stupor, revealing to him that he was no longer on the beach, but standing in Hannibal’s waiting room. Hannibal stared at him with concerned curiosity as fear washed over and through the man shaking in his waiting room.

“I don’t know how I got here,” said Will as he hurried into Hannibal’s office, finding small comfort in the still and quiet room in which he admitted his darkest secrets.

“Your car is outside, so we know you drove.” Hannibal removed his jacket as Will clamored on about having been in Grafton and waking up in his waiting room even though he wasn’t sleeping, coming to the conclusion that he had lost time considering the drive back to Baltimore was over three hours.

“There’s something wrong with me,” Will cried out. He rubbed his hands together and paced back and forth, trying to make sense of the terrifying reality that his world was slowly unraveling.

“You’re disassociating, Will. It’s a desperate survival mechanism for a psyche that endures repeated abuse,” Hannibal said calmly, finding a delicate balance in his manipulation. He suppressed the victory he felt in knowing that hypnosis was making Will’s mind pliable and easy to suggestion, the outcome he was specifically hoping for.

Will’s pleas and desperate attempts at rationalizing his behavior ricocheted off Hannibal like a racquetball. Hannibal navigated the conversation with ease feeling an overwhelming amount of power in his ability to convince Will that he was losing his mind instead of having it set on fire by encephalitis. It was so easy. He watched carefully with detachment as Will sat on the couch, nearly on the brink of tears as he wore the façade of concerned friend and voice of reason, his looming frame asserting dominance over the quivering man who caved into himself; he looked like a small and helpless fawn abandoned by its mother in the dead of winter. Hannibal raised his voice when Will suggested a brain scan, bringing up the fact that his loss in time happened precisely when he was empathizing with the person responsible for a particularly disgusting tableau. He was looking in the wrong places according to Hannibal, even though his compass was pointed at true North, at a certitude that was becoming shrouded. 

“I’m worried about you, Will.” Hannibal drew closer, looking down at him placidly and with caring eyes. “You empathize so completely with the killers Jack Crawford has your mind wrapped around that you lose yourself to them. What if you lose time and hurt yourself or someone else? I don’t want you to wake up and see a totem of your own making.”

Will blinked and stared up at him, terrified. _What if? What if? What if?_ Different scenarios swirled through his head. What if he strangled the life out Alana Bloom’s delicate body? What if he shot Jack Crawford with a swift and burning bullet? What if he broke Frederick Chilton in half and placed him atop his own totem pole? _What if? What if? What if?_

Will sobbed in his parked car, waiting for an emotional release encapsulated in the salty tears that streamed down his cheeks. He finally felt relief burst into his chest and his breathing slowed as a calm washed over him. He turned the ignition and made his way back home to his loving and innocent dogs that were oblivious to the harsh reality that everything and everyone dies. That is how it works: We unknowingly fasten ourselves onto the totem pole as death mocks us, celebrating itself in the face of our own uncertainties and applauding it's own design.


	7. The Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finds solace in Chilton; Hannibal confronts Will; Chilton continues his therapy with Charles Lin.

Horns blared behind Will’s head, filling it with dissonant harmonies and uneven time signatures that underscored flashes of the totem pole between blinks of his eyes. He heard angry shouts emanate from the many heads, the many corners of the jigsaw puzzle, demanding why they were chosen to be the constructs of another man’s design. They bleated rhythmically with the ugly music “Go! Move! Go! Move!” until they were no longer words, but a holy chant written in a long dead language. Will squeezed his eyes shut to hide from the gasping, frothing mouths whose screams grew angry in frustration; when he opened them, the totem pole was gone, replaced by seventeen naked men and women walking aimlessly on the cold beach of a private Jerusalem where their bones would eventually return. Their pain and confusion turned to rage and violence as they tore each other apart, yelling, “Go! Move!” over and over until their bodies were the piles of disassembled flesh that Will imagined fastening together only hours before. He felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned quickly only to see Frederick Chilton standing before him, his flesh drained of color save for a deep purple bruise around the whole of his stomach. He had no eyes, but bloody tears streaked his face and Will grew paralyzed as Chilton raised a freezing hand to gently cradle his trembling cheek. Softly, he said, as a cold thumb stroked the burning flesh of Will’s face, “Go. Move.”

He shuddered and snapped back to reality, realizing that he was not standing on the lonesome beach, but sitting at a green light, gripping the steering wheel of his car so hard that his hands were beginning to cramp. Several cars were lined up behind him beeping while their drivers yelled for Will to go, to move. He pushed on the gas pedal hard so that his tires squealed against asphalt and he frantically sped to his house, which was thankfully less than ten miles away. Finally, he made the turn onto his long, winding driveway, seeing Chilton’s bright red sports car as he came around a bend. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the man sitting on his porch in the cold, puffs of hot breath forming clouds as they rolled out from his mouth. Relief and warmth washed over him and he was almost on the verge of tears again because his fear that Chilton had been inexplicably hurt by his visions was completely unfounded.

“I called your cell phone, but it went straight to voicemail,” said Chilton, as Will shut his car door and rushed towards the porch. “Your office said you were at a crime scene, so I thought I’d wait for you. I hope you don’t mind I called you at –“

Before he could finish his sentence, Will hugged him tightly while trying hard not to sob, a tightness forming in his throat as he suppressed himself.

“Woah, woah woah. What’s wrong?” Chilton pulled away from him and brought a hand to his cheek.

“I just – The crime scene was really, really horrible. I had another episode.” Will took in deep breaths to stave off hyperventilation.

Chilton looked into his eyes, concern written all over his face. “An episode? Is that what you’re calling them now? I thought those were only happening in your sleep.”

“I was at the crime scene, I closed my eyes and when I woke up, I was in Dr. Lecter’s waiting room.” Will pulled himself back into Chilton and rested his head on his chest. “I’m scared.”

Chilton held him and swayed back and forth, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing Will’s panic. He whispered, “Shh” and kissed the top of Will’s head while nervous thoughts ran through his mind. He originally came over to complain about Gideon, to lament the threats he received, and to come clean about his failed use of psychic driving. The thought of telling Will about his misstep scared him; he remembered how angry he looked at Hannibal’s dinner table when their host intimated that Chilton had used such a method.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside. I’m freezing.” Chilton held open the screen door as Will unlocked the innermost one. He watched Will’s shaking hand try to jam the key in the lock, finally inserting and turning it on the fourth try. His dogs swarmed them as they crossed the threshold and Will crouched down to scratch their ears.

“Hey, guys.” Will hugged as many of them as he could at once and they pushed him over out of excitement, pawing at his chest and licking his face. Chilton laughed at the sight while he removed his coat and felt relief when he saw the other man smile. Will stayed sat down as he peeled his own jacket off, feeling the pure, unadulterated love of his companions. Chilton took a seat behind him with his legs spread open so he could hold Will from behind, wrapping his hands around his waist. Will let out a huge sigh as he sat back and felt the rise and fall of Chilton’s chest pushing onto his back.

“I’m so worried about you, Will,” said Chilton quietly. Most of the dogs had retreated to different parts of the house with the exception of Winston, who rested his head in Will’s lap. “I don’t think you should be doing this type of work anymore.”

“I know.” Will shut his eyes. “I’ll quit soon, I promise. Maybe when this case is solved.”

“Maybe.”

“We’ll see…soon. I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this anyway, but I don’t want to confront Jack just yet.”

“Fuck Jack,” Chilton said with exasperation. “I don’t care about his feelings on this matter. I care about you.”

Will turned his head up at Chilton, who looked down at a face painted with melancholy. Their lips met tenderly as Winston scooted away, Will shifting himself to face Chilton and pulling him in to kiss him deeper. They kissed slowly and deliberately, Chilton running his tongue over Will’s as he stroked his hands through Will’s curls. He straddled the man and he began unfastening the buttons of Will’s shirt, breaking away from his mouth to gaze deeply into his crystal blue eyes. Will stared back, feeling a swell of raw emotion as tears began brimming where they had not even an hour earlier. Chilton wiped an escaped tear away with his thumb and kissed the trail it left on his cheek. Will's eyes fluttered closed as Chilton lightly kissed their lids, moving to kiss his forehead, his jaw, finally returning to his mouth. Will slid his hands under Chilton’s blazer and pushed it off, drawing the man into him so that he could suck and kiss his neck. Chilton rolled his head back and sighed, half closing his eyes so that Will’s cabin became hazy and all he could focus on was the man between his legs.

As their kisses grew more desperate, Will pushed Chilton’s shoulders so that he fell to his back and he crawled on top of him. Chilton whimpered in surprise, he erection growing harder with every probing of Will’s tongue in his mouth. He retreated though.

“Wait,” he said with a whisper.

Will looked back at him with surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Chilton chuckled. “Let’s just go to bed. I don’t want to do this on the floor next to puddles of dog saliva.”

Will let out a great laugh and looked at Winston who had long strings of drool hanging from the scruff under his jaw. Will rolled off Chilton and stood up, giving him a hand and yanking him up so that he could embrace and kiss him once more. He then took Chilton by the hand and led him to the bed where he sat down, hooking a finger into the waist of his trousers, pulling Chilton’s stomach to his face where he rested a cheek and wrapped his arms around him. Chilton pet Will’s head and held his neck as he was squeezed tightly. He was surprised and nearly lachrymose over the vulnerability Will was showing him, as he became used to Will being in control during sex. Will relaxed his grip, giving Chilton the opportunity to fall to his knees and hold Will’s face in his hands.

“Oh, Will.” Chilton sweetly smiled at the man, who was still fighting off tears. “It’s okay! You’re here with me now, okay? You’re going to be alright.”

Will nodded, sighing deeply. Chilton unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and Will removed it as Chilton ran his hands beneath his undershirt, which clung to him from being sweat soaked. Will raised his arms as Chilton peeled it off of him, relinquishing himself to the other man’s authority. Chilton was tender and tentative however, sensitive to how delicate Will had become beneath his touch. Chilton swiftly took his shirt off and rubbed his hands over Will’s thighs as he reached up to kiss his collar bone, trailing kisses up his neck until he reached his mouth.

Will lie back as Chilton unzipped his pants, shimmying them down his legs along with his boxers, to reveal his half hard cock. Will gulped and looked down at Chilton as he took it in his mouth, swallowing the whole of it as it grew harder. Will hissed at the sensation of Chilton’s hot, wet mouth around him; Chilton withdrew and stroked Will’s cock, getting it slick and slippery as he wiggled himself out of his own trousers with his free hand. He quickly straddled Will and kissed his neck, taking a brief moment to nibble his earlobe, eliciting a needy giggle. Chilton continued to stroke the head of Will’s cock while he fumbled a free hand into the nightstand drawer to grab some lube so that he could ease himself onto it slowly. He suppressed a groan as he guided Will into him, sitting back and pushing his hands down on Will’s chest so he could control the tempo, rocking back and forth at an agonizingly slow rate. Will moaned loudly as Chilton kept the pace even, only granting shallow strokes. Chilton put his hands back and dugs his nails into Will’s hips to keep him from pushing them up as his feet were still on the floor, making it easy for him to gain leverage if he so chose. Will whimpered at being held down, unable to fully bury himself into Chilton, but continued to lie flat with his arms splayed out at his side so that the other man had complete control over him. Chilton watched Will’s face; his eyes were clenched shut as he furrowed his brows and bit his lips, but fluttered them open when he felt the other man's gaze upon him. He kept the pace slow as they looked at each other, a fevered softness washing over Will’s face. Slowly, Chilton leaned forward and kissed him sweetly. A torrent of passion washed over them as they both felt that they weren’t just fucking this time, but making love. Chilton hated that tired and played out phrase, but as he kissed Will and ran his hands through his hair, he finally understood what it really meant. The loneliness he felt his whole life instantly felt trifling in comparison. Will too found clarity in what he was feeling. It was rare and beautiful and any reservations he still held onto about his sexuality were then made completely obtuse and unnecessary. There were no more questions, just him and Frederick Chilton.

Will began whining as Chilton sped up slightly and allowed him to penetrate him deeper, his own grunts becoming louder and breathier as Will’s cock grazed his prostate over and over, his orgasm beginning to swell. Chilton screwed up his face as he rode Will’s cock harder; beads of sweat rolled down his forehead as he grew delirious with each stroke that brought him closer to orgasm. Will gouged his fingernails into Chilton’s muscular thighs, panting and dizzy from the sensation of Chilton's tightness around him.

Finally, it was too much for Will and he flung Chilton’s hands off him to grab his waist tightly and held him in place as he forcefully slammed his hips into him, pushing up from his firmly planted feet. The sudden and frantic motion was replete for Chilton and he came without even having to be touched, his cum spurting onto his stomach while he moaned loudly. Will grunted and plowed into Chilton chaotically, who had already gone limp from his own orgasm and was barely able to hold himself up. Finally, Will came hard with a shout loud enough to frighten the dogs who began a nervous chorus of barking, leaving Chilton giggling on top of the man under him. He pulled himself off of Will, giving him time to regain his breath while he cleaned himself off, shushing the dogs on his way to the bathroom. He quickly returned and slid into bed next to Will, who had propped himself up on several pillows, his pale skin still flushed throughout his face and upper torso. Chilton sidled up and rested his head on Will’s chest.

“Thank you,” said Will as he drew circles with his fingertip on Chilton’s shoulder.

“For what?” Chilton smiled into Will’s damp skin.

“I was really close to losing it there, Frederick. I would have completely broken down if you weren’t here when I got home.” Will sighed deeply, Chilton’s head rising and falling with him.

“Well, then. I’m glad I decided to stop by.” He paused, mulling over what it was he wanted to say next. “Will. Do you have anyone else? To help you, I mean. Do you have family, a support system, anything?”

“A support system? Are you playing doctor now?” Chilton looked up at Will, who smirked at him.

“No. I’m serious. I’m nervous about what’s happening to you and I want to know you have other people to help keep you safe.”

Will looked deeply into Chilton’s eyes, noticing flecks of gold swimming in the pale green ocean of his irises. “I have a couple of friends: Beverly Katz, Alana Bloom...I consider Jack a friend. And Hannibal Lecter, I suppose.”

“All of those people are employed by the F.B.I. in some capacity. I’m not sure how much they qualify as friends. What about family?”

“Well, my father died five years ago. I have no siblings; never knew my mother. So, no.” Will stared up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of his existence. His father’s death was a complicated affair for him; their relationship was always odd, his father neither proud nor disappointed by him, mostly just confused. Will could be confusing in general, his peculiar disorders keeping him at arms length from just about everyone, his father being no exception. The only thing they ever truly bonded over was fishing, but it’s a hobby that hinders on quiet. Not wanting to scare the fish away meant not spending a lot of time talking. “What about you? Where’s your support system?”

“I don’t really need one,” Chilton said dryly.

“That sounds like something someone who needs a support system would say.” Will grinned at having one-upped the man.

“I’m a very private person, Will. If you hadn’t noticed.”

“On purpose or by design?” Will began playing with Chilton’s hair, something that always reminded him of their first encounter.

“Both, I suppose. Middle child, only boy, small for my age. I got picked on a lot and coming from a family of doctors put a lot of pressure on me to follow in my father's footsteps. My father was very adamant that I go into surgery.”

“What happened to that?”

“Clearly, that was a wash,” said Chilton with a huff. “I was naïve enough to believe that the bullies of your youth grow into decent human beings, but there they were, waiting for me at medical school chomping at the bit to torture me at every wrong nick of a scalpel.”

He paused and a silence fell over them. Will could feel a sad energy seep out of Chilton’s pores, pooling on his skin.

“I’m not private, Will. I’m just lonely. I’m a very lonely man and all of this, everything going on between us is a bit terrifying. Your health problems aside, I constantly worry that you’re going to see right through me and decide you don’t like me anymore, just like everyone else.”

“I like you because I can see through you, Frederick and I see a lot of myself in you. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m just as lonely as you are, maybe more so. My – what did you call it – “unique cocktail of personality disorders and neuroses” gives me the uncomfortable ability to see people at their core, which means not many of them want to be around me and vice versa, I suppose. My dad called it “The Bullshit Meter” when I was a kid because I always knew when the adults were lying to me, which got me in a lot of trouble at school. I argued with teachers and my classmates were freaked out by me, the eternal weird kid. But I moved around a lot, so it’s not like I was around long enough to become a punching bag.” Will let his hand rest on Chilton’s arm and he gave him a peck on the forehead. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Doesn’t all of this seem odd to you, though? It’s barely been three weeks since we, um, you know. _Got together_. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop when you tell me this all has been some sort of intricate prank.” Chilton shifted onto his stomach and propped his chin up on Will’s chest.

Will looked down at him with a faint smile. “Ah, yes. The intricate prank where I sleep with a man for the first time in my life and then slowly go crazy. I make a really good honey pot, don’t I?”

“I’m sorry for being so insecure. Never in a million years would I have believed that this man, this beautiful man would want to spend any time with me, especially after I made such a royal ass of myself when we first met.” Chilton bit his lip, blushing at just having told Will he was beautiful.

“Aw, you think I’m pretty.” Will laughed. “Well, I wasn’t very pleasant to meet in your defense.”

“At least you were nice to look at.” Chilton smirked at Will, who brought a hand up to stroke his cheek. “So you’re not going anywhere, then?”

“Nope. I’m all yours.”

Chilton beamed at him, the flush in his cheeks giving away his giddiness. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

They lie in bed naked and entwined with each other until sunset and the dogs started whining for their dinner. As Will bent down to scoop food into their bowls, he looked back at Chilton, who was fumbling with his phone, and smiled feeling like his home was nicely making room for this man, possibly finding a permanent place for him.

“Would you like to talk about what happened yesterday?” Hannibal sat across from Will in his dimly lit office, legs crossed and leaning to one side of his chair.

“What else is there to talk about, Dr. Lecter?” Will scanned the room, making extra effort to avoid eye contact with the man across from him.

“You showed up at my door unannounced and unaware of where you were or how you got there. I believe that’s worth talking about.” Hannibal cocked his head, placidly waiting for Will’s eyes to return to him.

“I thought you arrived at the conclusion that I disassociated and all of this is in my head.” Will smacked his lips, unable to hide his frustration.

“You don’t?” Hannibal leaned forward in his chair. “Is the idea of having a mental illness so hard to accept that you must overturn each stone and dust every corner trying to find another answer?”

“Why are you so eager to blame this on mental illness when, I don’t know, I might have some sort of brain tumor? There could be other alternatives.” Will gripped the arms of his chair and looked down at his lap, feeling Hannibal’s eyes burn on his skin.

“The chances of that are highly unlikely, Will. When faced with a competing set of hypotheses, the one with the fewest assumptions tends to be the correct one. Other, more complicated answers may be viable, but in the absence of certainty, the fewer assumptions made, the closer one is to the true answer.”

Will raised his eyes to meet Hannibal’s. “Occam’s Razor.”

“Yes.” Hannibal smiled and leaned back. “Very good.”

Hannibal’s gaze penetrated Will’s defenses and he finally relaxed, slouching into his seat. “I’m willing to entertain that my work is having a negative effect on me. It would be incredulous of me not to.”

“Does Jack Crawford know about what happened?” Hannibal tugged his jacket straight and clasped his hands.

“Not yet. I stopped by his office today, but he was out.”

“Were you relieved?”

“Yes. Wouldn’t you be?” Will squinted at Hannibal, trying to read a blank face. “No one wants to admit to their superior that they’re unstable.” 

“I would hope that my superior is understanding. Especially if he is consistently putting me in situations that exacerbate my instability.” He let that statement hang and stagnate between them. “Jack Crawford has the right to know what is happening to his agents just as much as you have the right to walk away from him.”

Will snickered. “Are you going to tattle on me?”

“Of course not. But I have no qualms about voicing my concerns.” He continued to stare at Will with heedful eyes, trying to find a weak spot to exploit. 

“Why don’t you leave voicing concerns to me,” Will said haughtily. His frustration crept back over him.

“You’ve consistently avoided doing so, Will. Why shouldn’t I be dubious of your intent to follow through in this matter?” He watched anger flush Will’s face. “I see this line of questioning is upsetting to you.”

“Only because you’re right.” Hannibal gave Will the faintest smile, a small mark of victory. “I shouldn’t be hiding these things from Jack. I am worried. You said I could hurt somebody during a black out yesterday and I can’t seem to get that out of my head.”

“Is there anyone in particular you’re afraid of hurting?” Hannibal was getting closer to the question he’d been waiting to ask since his dinner with Will and Chilton.

“Well, I would never forgive myself if I did something that hurt my dogs,” Will said with sincerity. Of course, he was also worried about hurting people, namely Chilton, but the idea of anything bad happening to his animal friends tore him up inside.

“That’s sweet, Will.” Hannibal smiled at him, tickled by such an innocent and childlike answer. He quickly imagined Will at the cinemas, eating popcorn while intently watching a film and feeling a huge sense of relief when it’s revealed that the dog who’s life was put in danger makes it out alive, not really caring if the main character does too; just as long as the dog was safe. “Anyone else?”

“Of course. I come in contact with people everyday. I wouldn’t want to put anyone in danger.” Will grew suspicious of what Hannibal was reaching for. “Students, coworkers, friends –“

“You don’t strike me as someone with many friends to put in danger, Will.” Hannibal grew weary of trying to extract information from him, coming closer and closer to just asking outright what he was doing with Frederick Chilton.

“No. But I –“

“Will, it’s important that you’re always honest in therapy. Lying makes it harder for one’s psychiatrist to offer up the most useful assistance.” Hannibal kept his eyes fixed on Will’s face, which completely betrayed him in that moment.

“I’m not lying about anything, Dr. Lecter.” Will grew nervous, seeing the juncture Hannibal was driving them towards.

“A lie by omission is still a lie, Will.”

“Okay, then. Why don’t you tell me what I’m lying about?” Will’s voice was tense and he clenched his jaw, steadying himself for what Hannibal was about to say. “Please, shed a light on what it is you think I’m omitting.”

“Are you having an affair with Frederick Chilton?” Hannibal’s words crystallized and shattered at Will’s feet. There was nothing left for him to hide and the weighty silence that cloaked the room was tremendous. Hannibal pursed his lips, waiting for Will’s answer. Will broke free of Hannibal’s gaze and stood up, bee lining for the window.

“Yes.”

“And this is a recent development?” Hannibal shot back at him quickly.

“Yes.”

“Do you have feelings for him?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been with other men?”

“No.”

“Do you find this behavior out of character?”

“What are you trying to say here? Are you trying to imply that my “mental illness” is pushing me to do things I normally wouldn’t do? Because that is not the case here.” Will was seething and he certainly wasn’t ready to unpack the meanings and implications behind his relationship with Chilton. It was only the night before that he finally felt he could stop analyzing it, feeling more and more protective of it with each probing question Hannibal lobbed at him.

“I am merely trying to help untangle the many threads of your life that have begun snag since you were referred to me. Do you really believe that now is the best time to begin a relationship? Especially one of a completely foreign nature to you?” Hannibal shifted in his seat, staring at Will’s back and growing annoyed that he couldn’t read the man’s face. “You told me Alana Bloom shied away from you because she saw you were unstable. She may have saved both of you from experiencing a great deal of pain. Don’t you think you owe Frederick the same courtesy?”

“Are you trying to alienate me from him?” Will turned from the window, glaring at Hannibal for making such a suggestion. Hannibal may have miraculously gathered that he and Chilton were having an affair, but that’s where his knowledge of their relationship stopped. “Because he and Alana are two very different people.”

“Yes, I know. That doesn’t diminish the fact that your life is very complicated right now. You were re-enlisted to the field, forced into killing a man, gained a surrogate daughter, and now the fabric of your reality is pulling at the seams. It would be imprudent not to consider taking a step back. For both your sake.”

Will breathed in heavily, calming his anger. He knew Hannibal had a point, but Chilton was not another complication in his life. He had become an anchor to hold onto; a fixed point like the North Star that he could find when he was thrown off course. Will wasn’t ready to give that up for the sake of a mental illness he wasn’t entirely convinced he even had. Will walked slowly back to his chair.

“Tell me one thing,” he said as he sat down. “How did you know?”

“About you and Frederick?” said Hannibal as he adjusted the sleeves of his jacket. Will nodded wearily. “I first noticed an awkwardness between the two of you when I had you over for dinner. I would leave the dining room and return to a tense silence that suggested you were suppressing an argument, a theory that proved true when I watched you butt heads outside my house. Frederick left in quite a frenzy, didn’t he?”

“Seems like a bit of a leap, Dr. Lecter.” Will squinted at him, hoping to see a truer answer written on Hannibal’s face.

“Don’t forget my other senses, Will.” Hannibal tapped the side of his nose with a long, delicate finger. “I smelled his cologne on you at our subsequent therapy session. It gave you away.”

Will let out a defeated laugh, shaking his head. “Well, everything is out in the open now.”

Hannibal leaned in, clasping his hands together and resting his forearms on his thighs. “And how does that make you feel?”

“I’m feeling a little betrayed, actually.” Charles Lin sat across from Chilton once again. Chilton usually didn’t see patients more than once a week, but he told the orderlies he was ready to talk…about everything. He was ready to take all of Chilton’s tests and reveal his darkest innermost secrets. Chilton couldn’t be happier, especially because he’d taken a liking to Charles Lin in their last session.

“That I talked to Dr. Gideon after our session yesterday?” Chilton watched Lin pick at his cuticles.

“Yes. I told you I liked him and then you scampered off to yell at him like an overbearing mother.”

“His words or yours?” Chilton smirked, hearing Gideon’s voice echo through Lin’s.

“It doesn’t really matter, does it? I’m sure Abel will lose some respect for me now that I’ve decided to talk, but our session yesterday made me realize I’m trying too hard to fit in.”

Chilton cocked his head, slightly amused at the idea of wanting to be popular or accepted at a hospital for criminally insane individuals. “How so?”

“Everyone here is either completely off their rockers like Miggs or cunning and manipulative like Abel. I don’t really fit in with one or the other. Little bit of both really.” Lin smiled cheerfully. Chilton returned the smile, as he couldn’t remember the last time he had a pleasant conversation within the confines of the interview room.

“Do you think you’re off your rocker?” Chilton pulled out his Mont Blanc, ready to take notes.

“Of course I do. I killed six people. That’s pretty crazy, don’t you think?”

“Some people have killed many more than that, but end up being called “war heroes.” It depends on the context.” Chilton smirked at Lin, making sure not to pass judgments in order to keep him talking.

“You’re funny, Dr. Chilton. Funnier than anyone gives you credit for here.”

“I don’t get credit for most things I do here, Charles. I thought that was obvious by now.”

“That must be frustrating; to have all of your hard work go unnoticed. Or worse, mocked.” Charles stared at Chilton empathetically. Chilton took note while also finding humor in the fact a convicted murderer felt sorry for him.

“It is, Charles. Perhaps now you understand why I’m always in such a foul mood.”

“I’m sure people like Miggs make it even worse.” Chilton decided not to evade Lin’s questions, despite it being somewhat frowned upon to have give-and-take conversations during therapy. It could promote a friendliness that patients might use as a crutch.

“Miggs is psychotic and an annoyance at best. Your friend Abel Gideon makes operating this hospital far more difficult than Miggs ever could.”

“You really don’t like him, do you?” Lin sat forward, fully invested in their conversation.

“No, I do not. But I am not paid to like my patients, Charles. I am paid to observe and treat them. If I had to like all of my patients, I’d be left with you and about three other people. I would actually be thrilled about it just as long as the salary stayed the same.” Chilton smiled knowing the flattery would help the man to trust him. Lin blushed.

“Well.”

“Yes, well.” Chilton paused and rested his hands in his lap, still holding onto his pen, but relaxing it from the paper. “All of this quid pro quo has been pleasant, but I’m afraid it’s bad practice of me to be sharing my feelings with you, so I think we should return to your therapy before I accidentally tell you all of my secrets.” Lin chuckled at the sentiment.

“Okay. Where should we start?” Lin seemed eager, which pleased Chilton to no end.

“Why don’t we start where all good therapists start and talk about your childhood?”

“What do you want to know?” A flicker of anxiety danced behind Lin’s eyes.

“The basics: Where you grew up, what your parents were like, siblings, major events.” Chilton began tapping his pen.

“Well, I grew up in upstate New York, in Albany. It’s a small city for a state capital, certainly not a very large Chinese community. I’m still not sure how it was that my parents ended up there, but what can you do?” Lin paused, waiting for Chilton to prompt him. When he received no such one, he continued. “My parents are from China. They got married in Chongqing when they were both nineteen and then moved here for their chance at the American dream. They were both very educated, but it took them some time to find their footing. Eventually bàba got a job teaching chemical engineering at Rensselaer Polytechnic nearby and māma did research at SUNY Albany. They greatly valued education and expected a lot out of me, I suppose. My older sister has two PhDs, my younger one is a research fellow at Princeton, and I ended up working at a pub and killing people. The proverbial black sheep.”

Chilton could relate. He tried hard not to project onto Lin, but it was like he was hearing his own childhood told to him. His parents were also immigrants: His father Irish, mother Peruvian. Both very educated. His father was a neurosurgeon and his mother a principle singer at the Washington National Opera; there was a lot of competition amongst his siblings to be the most impressive. His older sister had him beat by miles: She graduated high school with a perfect GPA and moved onto Stanford, where she graduated Summa Cum Laude in three years, only to go on to Johns Hopkins University for her medical degree. She was currently one of the highest regarded cardiothoracic surgeons in the country. His father was incredibly proud of her, even shedding a few tears when she graduated first in her class from Johns Hopkins. Chilton remembered him as a very stoic and ill-tempered man who was much more comfortable wearing a look of disappointment around his son than anything else, especially when Chilton told him he’d be switching from surgery to psychiatry half way through medical school.

Chilton’s younger sister was an anomaly. She didn’t have any capacity for the sciences, but was a tremendous athlete instead. Her competitiveness was funneled into diving, where she truly excelled, being primed as an Olympian early on in her high school career. Chilton would watch her practice after school sometimes, holding his breath in anticipation every time she tried a new and more difficult skill. Time seemed to slow as she twisted and flipped, folding herself into tight pikes and causing only the smallest splashes on the surface of the water when she really nailed a dive. She adored it when Chilton came to watch, showing off every trick and laughing anytime she messed up. That’s what he loved most about her: While his older sister was a saturnine perfectionist who spent her prom night studying despite invitations from several boys for her to be their date, his younger sister was never afraid of failing and even reveled in doing so. She was bubbly and popular, but her social status was irrelevant to her. Even at the height of her popularity, she would still have lunch with her wallflower of a brother (who was a few grades ahead of her) because he made her laugh the most out of everyone she knew. He was a junior in college when he got the news she died. She had a penchant for bad boys who liked to drive too fast and too drunk. The timing couldn’t have been worse: She was only weeks away from finding out if she’d qualified for the Olympic team. His father barely said two words at her funeral, but his mother couldn’t let go of Chilton, physically or emotionally. She clung to him and begged him not to go back to school so quickly, to take a semester off. School would understand, there was a tragedy in the family. But the leering, judgmental eyes of his father stared back at him every time he looked at her tear-streaked face. No, he needed to go back, he needed to become another good doctor to help heal the world.

“I think they began to suspect something was different about me when they found my garden.” Lin shifted his eyes nervously.

“Your garden? What was your garden?” Chilton leaned forward, ready to jot down notes.

“There was a patch of forest behind our house that I would play in as a kid, mostly by myself. Have you read Pet Sematary?” Lin paused, waiting from a nod from Chilton, which he soon received. “See, after I read it, I was obsessed with the idea of being able to kill something and then bringing it back to life. I think I must have been 11 or 12. I fenced off my own little pet cemetery in the forest, but I called it "My Garden" instead, so I wasn’t just copying Stephen King, you know? I would capture stray cats and squirrels and other tiny animals and well, uh. Usually I would just snap their necks or bash their heads with rocks. I would bury them and return the next day, making believe that they’d come back to life. If they were back, then they could play with me. My parents saw it as mutilation, but I don’t think what I was doing was mutilating them per se. I _changed_ them.”

“Physically or just metaphorically?” Chilton didn’t look up from his notes. For a brief moment, when he was caught up in his own narrative, he forgot that he was still talking to a monster, despite his affability.

“Both, I suppose. I liked changing their appearance after I dug them up. Give them little haircuts and body modifications. Make them new for the world. My parents didn’t see it that way. They just saw murder. Bàba thought he could beat it out of me. He didn’t, but he tried. He tried very hard.”

Chilton looked up at Lin, who smiled at him earnestly. He scratched down _childhood violence and abuse_ on his notepad and sat back, squinting at Lin, as he got lost in reveries of gruesome puppet shows he made for himself out of the carcasses of defenseless woodland creatures.

_At least he’s talking_ , Chilton thought. Knowing he’d have the whole conversation recorded, he wasn’t too concerned when his mind wandered away from a revolting carnival of dead cats and mice to the first time his sister a did a reverse two-and-a-half flip off the 3 meter in competition. She was most afraid of reverse dives; walking forward only to flip back seemed counter-intuitive and she was scared she would hit her head on the board. But she always did the dives anyway, whether she landed vertical or horizontal, trying and trying again until her body was streamlined, barely disturbing the water. She got 9’s across the board for that dive; the judges didn’t want to give her a 10 because they weren’t sure what perfect looked like. That’s why they gave her 10’s on the next one.


	8. Occam's Razor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal mulls over the quandary he finds himself in and the possible solutions to it; Will and Chilton's relationship continues to deepen.

The human body was not designed for swimming. We are an upright creature built to travel great distances on our two feet, to hunt, to gather, to discover the world on grand walkabouts through desert and tundra. We traverse asphalt jungles and impossible mountain ranges. We push away and draw each other in with our feet pointed in a specific and desired direction that propel us forward, pull us back, or plant us in a fixed place, waiting for a reason to stop or to go. We were not made to swim. We learned to swim for survival, to keep us safe in case we were yanked from the shore by aggressive rip tides or fallen overboard from a canoe we carved with our tribesmen to look for new and distant lands. We learned to swim out of necessity. In this day and age, we have hewn rectangular reservoirs filled to the brim with crystalline blue water, chlorinated and filtered, segregated into lanes by floating plastic dividers. Some of them are outfitted with springboards at various heights above deep wells off which divers flip and twist through the air, caught between seconds of neither walking nor swimming, just falling gracefully and for a fleeting moment flying.

Hannibal Lecter is a perfectionist. Many people can be hindered by their compulsive need to be perfect, but Hannibal’s is tempered by patience and an understanding of how necessary it is for one’s skills to be built upon a hard foundation. From a young age, he appreciated that in order to truly excel, one needed to learn and practice every step meticulously so that it became a reflex. This is how chess masters are able to play at breakneck speeds: To an observer, it seems as if they move their pieces impulsively for the sake of time, but in actuality, they know the board and it’s parts so well that a series of plays and their results are mapped out before them the moment their opponent makes a move. Hannibal’s greatest asset was his ability to know things so well that he could see all of the outcomes and their variables written down before pencil touches paper and he could attribute all of this to the mastering of fundamentals. For example, if one were to rock their body from side to side as they cut their hands through water, they would expend less energy and swim longer than if one were to move their arms and legs vertically trying to push the water away from them.

The man swimming in the lane next to Hannibal was using the latter technique. No, it couldn’t even be called a technique, for it was a demonstration on the various ways humans were not built for water. Hannibal was apathetic to the man’s flailing and labored breathing as he glided through the water with ease, slick and efficient. He likened his body to a schooner: long and slender, able to skim through the water, parting it with pointed hands to make way for the rest of his body. The further he reached, the less resistance he was met with. He timed his breaths and inhaled deeply into his diaphragm so that the entire act of swimming was not a function of exercise, but of mechanics. He enjoyed the feeling of his body becoming streamlined and automatic so that he could retreat into his mind to breakdown the quandary he found himself in.

Will Graham having an affair with Frederick Chilton certainly threw a wrench in his plans (not that any of them were immutable at all times). He could only predict what others would do, but he often aided them in fulfilling those predictions through suggestion, winding people up and watching them go. The facts were these: Will Graham had encephalitis and a very special pathology, the combination of which presented Hannibal with a unique opportunity to establish a singular and profound relationship with him. He wanted Will to be his and his alone, as he recognized a likeness to himself in the man that was impossible to ignore. Hannibal was a collector of the rare and precious and Will was both to him. The mystery of Will’s mind was whether it only visited darkness or was born of it; the mystery of their friendship was how much it could withstand. If Hannibal were to reveal his true self to Will, would he accept it with gratitude at having found a true companion or would he dash it to pieces like a wooden boat against the rocks of a storm beaten shore? His endgame was to have an unparalleled equal, someone just as worthy of what the world had to offer as he was, but there were several moving components that couldn’t guarantee the desired outcome. Hannibal didn’t worry so much about free will as he did about variables that were outside of his control. The illusion of free will was easy to fake. God did it all the time. The most important element was that Will could have no one else to depend on but him. Hannibal had been taking careful steps to make sure that he was the most reliable person in Will’s life so that he would have no one else to turn to in his darkest hours. He moved the pieces around in his head as he gracefully kick turned off the pool wall.

First things first, he knew that he angered Will in their last session when he confronted him about Chilton and that needed to be mitigated immediately. Setting up an appointment with his friend and prominent neurologist Dr. Sutcliffe for a brain scan would surely bring Will back into his good graces. Dr. Sutcliffe actually reminded him a bit of Chilton: Both were ambitious in their fields, concerned with their reputations, and a bit obnoxious in their conceit. However the former was much more successful and had the skill to back up his bravado, which would make it that much easier for Hannibal to convince him to hide Will’s diagnosis for the sake of scientific pursuits. Sutcliffe would be thrilled to have a unique and potentially lucrative opportunity to watch such an illness take its effects in real time. Plus, Hannibal would feel no hesitation in killing him when it was necessary.

Chilton on the other hand, he couldn’t kill. Not yet. As easy as a fix that would be to remove him from Will’s life permanently, Hannibal had been weaving together a very intricate design that Chilton was integral to. Two years prior, when Jack Crawford’s trainee paid a visit to his office, it was brought to Hannibal’s attention that his profile could feasibly be detected through a combination of chance and rare wit, a wit that Miriam Lass possessed. He didn’t kill her for that very reason: He was impressed by her ability to make connections (the same kind of connections Will Graham makes) so he shuffled her into his deck of cards to pull out at just the right moment. After he quietly detained and stowed her away, Hannibal thought of how easy it would be to pin his crimes on his dear friend Frederick Chilton, although at that particular point in time was wholly unnecessary. Hannibal took care of his Lass problem proficiently and Chilton continued to fumble his way through the Ripper case, providing Crawford little help through the use of his “expertise.” While the case went cold, Hannibal conceptualized the different ways the FBI could catch him and every time he arrived at the same conclusion that he needed both Miriam Lass and Frederick Chilton alive to make Blackjack and evade capture. He was not cocky enough to believe that he would live out the rest of his days in Baltimore, so his surety that he would eventually force such a play made his upkeep and housing of Lass feel like less of a nuisance and more of a cultivation. Hannibal had run before and he would run again. The question was if he would ever have someone else to run with. 

It seemed his only option would be to drive a wedge between the two men somehow; he would have to be subtle and patient, as he was with every other facet of his life and he would have to leave no fingerprints, except of course for the ones he wanted to. Hannibal watched the floor of the pool below him as he continued his laps, finding peace and clarity between controlled breaths and heartbeats. He saw many paths erupt onto the tiles as if he himself were taking a fountain pen and inking hundreds of lines to form an intricate map. Yes, a plan was forming; ideas were snaking towards a destination with clean forks and junctions in many of the roads so that they could be used at a moment’s notice in case of accidents or inclement weather. Every avenue tightly followed the edge of Occam’s Razor so that any point or variable could be moved to make way for the most logical conclusion.

Will hadn’t returned to Chilton’s house since their fight over who told or hadn’t told Hannibal what and the more time he spent in it, the more he realized that Chilton was filthy rich. As a teacher, Will made a modest income and had always been frugal, so he spent little time thinking about money. He learned to resent the wealthy having grown up a latchkey kid to a single parent (a stoic blue-collar worker who criticized those who had things handed to them on a platter). The concept of wanting to be rich was foreign to him, mostly from the humble attitude of working in boat yards and later law enforcement amongst people who were happy to have what they had (usually nuclear families, three square meals a day, and reliable cars). But he had to admit after spending more time at Chilton’s residence that accruing a lot of money came with its perks. He thought it was incredibly stupid and gaudy to have heated floors the first time he encountered them in Chilton’s bathroom, but his bare feet thanked him when he tread on warm marble in the middle of the night on his way to the toilet. Will supposed he could get used to the finer things.

He missed his dogs, though. Chilton nagged him to spend the weekend at his house, pretending to be grumpy and withholding until Will conceded and called a neighbor to feed his furry companions while he was away. The uninterrupted time together made it more and more obvious how attached he was getting to Chilton, feeling punch drunk love over every little discovery he made about the man. When he woke up that Saturday morning, he came downstairs to find Chilton sitting on his couch cross-legged chomping on cereal in front of an episode of House Hunters International flickering on an absurdly large television. His hair was sticking up at all different angles and he spilt some milk down the front of his shirt, a far cry from the well-put together man who was always meticulously groomed. Will didn’t know what to expect him to be eating that morning, perhaps eggs Benedict or some other fanciful breakfast, but Raisin Bran certainly wasn’t it. Will didn’t watch a lot of TV, but by his third episode of the real-estate based reality show, he was making predictions about which house the prospective buyers would pick and laughing when Chilton would kvetch over them choosing the wrong one (of course, his prediction wasn’t wrong, their choice was).

I was nearly noon when they finally got up and turned off the television. By then, Chilton had curled up next to Will and rest his head on his chest while Will was leaned back with his feet propped up on the coffee table.

“Is this what you do on your days off?” Will asked as he stretched and yawned. “Lay around all day?”

“Mostly.” Chilton picked up his cereal bowl and made his way towards the kitchen. “Don’t you?”

Will followed behind him. “I get restless if I’m not keeping busy, to be honest.”

“Well, that doesn’t surprise me.” Chilton rinsed out his bowl and put it in the dishwasher.

“What’s that supposed –” Will jammed his hip against the corner of Chilton’s kitchen island before he could finish his sentence. “Ah! Goddamn it!”

“Do I need to baby proof my house?” Chilton grinned at him as he rubbed his hipbone, wincing in pain.

“Shut up.” Will playfully frowned at him as Chilton made his way over. “It’s not funny.”

“Yes it is,” he said as he put his hands on Will’s hips. “Your clumsiness is endearing and an endless source of entertainment for me.” He planted a quick, sweet kiss on Will’s lips and smiled. Will rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but smile back and return one of his own.

“Are we going to do anything besides watch TV and make fun of me?”

“We could go for a walk. There’s a forest preserve behind my house that has trails.” Chilton turned away to start the dishwasher, which was only half full. He needed a moment to collect himself as the sudden realization dawned on him that he might be falling in love. A million thoughts ran through his head; _it’s too soon. It’s only been a month_. _No one falls in love in a month. Am I in love? How does it even feel? Am I just being desperate? God knows I’ve been alone for far too long. This isn’t real. This can’t be happening because things like this don’t happen to me and no one falls in love in a month. That’s juvenile and reckless. What’s the time frame for falling in love? How long does it usually take? I’m a goddamn psychiatrist. I should know these things. Careful Frederick, you’re getting ahead of yourself. You need to be careful. Just be… **careful**._

Will swooped around the island and slid up next to him. “That sounds great. It’s a nice day for once too. Maybe we’re getting our usual Baltimore winter back.”

Chilton sighed, feeling a swell of emotion; he looked at Will’s goofy smile and patchy stubble, feeling an odd sense of serenity. _Is this what love feels like?_

“You don’t strike me as outdoorsy,” said Will, as he watched Chilton try to step over a large patch of mud in the middle of the trail they were trekking. In an increasingly typical fashion, the Baltimore area would have long periods of frigidly cold snowfall followed by a drastic hike in temperature and scattered rain showers, leaving the city swamped with grey slush and dour faces. Having just rained two days prior, the forest preserve had become particularly gooey.

“What a keen observation. Excuse me while I call Jack Crawford to tell him what a bang up job you’re doing out here.” He rolled his eyes as his foot squelched the mud beneath him.

“You’re wearing boots; just walk through it. That’s what they’re made for.” Will laughed as Chilton scrunched his face, repelled by the glob of wet mud that sullied his boots.

“These are Gucci!” Will gave him a taunting look and Chilton stared back in exasperation. After a brief pause they burst out laughing. “Oh my god, I sound completely ridiculous.”

“Yes, you do.”

They moved forward down the path that cut through barren trees, Chilton often tiptoeing around puddles while Will trampled right through them. Chilton thought about reaching for Will’s hand several times but stopped, still clinging to anxieties of seeming needy. He watched him as he let out a long, tired sigh, looking like he left his body to exist somewhere else for a moment.

“Are you okay?” said Chilton.

Will gave him a crooked and weary smile. “Yeah, I was just thinking about work.”

“Finally quitting?”

“No. Not yet.” Chilton began to protest but Will cut him off. “I’m feeling better! –Ish. My headaches are still a problem, but I’ve been dealing with what I do decently well lately. Hannibal has been helpful in keeping me grounded. And you – you’ve been helping me too.”

“Well, that’s a small relief.” Chilton inhaled deeply to temper the swelling of emotion he felt deep in his chest knowing he finally had value to someone besides his mother. “But I wouldn’t rely too heavily on Hannibal.”

“Why? Are you getting jealous?” Will said jokingly.

Chilton’s voice soured. “That’s not funny.”

“Okay.” Will turned to look at him as they continued walking. “I’m sorry.”

Chilton rolled his eyes. “It’s fine.”

“Alright, but what is it about Hannibal that makes you say that?”

“Well, despite what you may call your relationship, it’s hard to deny that at this point you’re his patient and it’s important for any person in therapy to have others to rely on outside the safety of their psychiatrist’s office. Hannibal can’t be both your psychiatrist and your friend. Or at least he shouldn’t be, but we both know he doesn’t shy away from the unorthodox.”

“Does he now?” Will said skeptically.

“I have never encountered a psychiatrist that invites his patients over for dinner and before you even say that you’re not his patient, I will tell you right now that he probably keeps notes on you so he can eventually publish some sort of dissertation on your pathology.”

“He’s already told me as much. Anything he’d publish would be posthumously obviously.” Will paused, assessing what it was he wanted to say. “You’re right that our relationship borders on unprofessional when it comes to boundaries, but if anything, I think of him as a friend first.”

“I just hope you realize that there is a power dynamic at play. Hannibal is incredibly charming, but he’s also the smartest person I know and he’s completely aware of his unparalleled intelligence. I can never tell when he’s being genuine or not and this is coming from someone who spends most of their time faking his way through the day.”

“I’ll keep all of that in mind, Frederick.” Will scoffed. “Do you even like him? You seem to enjoy his company, but then you complain about him and call him an asshole behind his back.”

“Well, look at him. He’s so pretentious!”

“You’re pretentious.”

“Ha!” Chilton wasn’t insulted; in fact he was amused by Will’s cheekiness. “Yes, I am, I suppose. But I’m just a show horse, an insecure one at that. Hannibal, on the other hand is completely in love with himself, not to mention he’s just plain odd. He once served me a plate of food with a bird’s skull on it and have you seen that painting he has in his dining room, the one with the swan? Who puts that in a room where people eat? And where does he even find bird skulls, his backyard? I can’t imagine there are many Santeria shops around Baltimore. He’s a very enigmatic man.”

Will laughed at Chilton’s musings, imagining him trying to hide his perplexity and desire to be sarcastic at Hannibal’s dinner table. “You’ve put a lot of thought into him.”

“Who wouldn’t? I always feel as if I’m in some strange museum when I’m in his house. I will admit that there’s probably no one else on the planet like Hannibal Lecter. I can understand why you’re drawn to him.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, there’s no one else on the planet like you either. It must be hard to be such a singularity.”

The two men stopped and looked each other in the eyes. Will took Chilton’s hand into his own somberly. “Yes. It is. It’s very hard.”

Chilton squeezed his hand tightly. “You don’t have to be alone, Will. Life can be a lot of things. It can be painful and lonely and disappointing, but it doesn’t have to be that way all the time. Don’t you ever feel the joy and hope and love that life has to offer when you do your…thing?”

In that moment, Will began to feel Chilton’s design; his desperate need to be loved and the feeling that perhaps the need was finally being filled. He watched Chilton’s face soften, his eyes looking back at him adoringly but plaintive. He felt his fear and his hope and his deep affection. Will let go of Chilton’s hand and pulled him in so that their foreheads were touching.

“Yes. I do. Rarely; but I do.” Will tilted his head and kissed the other man softly, drawing it out so he could revel in a tender and unprecedented moment in his life. He could feel it was unprecedented in Chilton’s life too.

“So, Hannibal what can I help you with today?” Jack Crawford looked up from a case file as Hannibal took a seat in front if his desk.

“I wanted to talk to you about Will.” Hannibal pursed his lips as Crawford flipped the file shut and pushed it aside.

“Alright, talk to me.” Crawford leaned back in his chair.

“I’m worried about him, Jack. I can’t go into much detail as I don’t have his permission to discuss any specifics from our conversations, but I feel it is my obligation to let you know that he may be unraveling.” Hannibal paused, turning his head away from Crawford’s irked glare. “I think you’re pushing him too far.”

“I’ve asked him more than once if he wanted to quit and each time he declined, Dr. Lecter.” Crawford only called Hannibal “Dr. Lecter” when he was annoyed with the man. “I need Will; he is doing good work and I’ve decided this is an open and shut case.”

“I don’t want him to hurt himself. Or god-forbid others. You should tread lightly, Jack.”

“If there’s something you want to say, then you need to tell me right now, Doctor.” He was growing impatient and Hannibal speaking in vague riddles and implications certainly didn’t help. “Is Will dangerous?”

“Not yet,” said Hannibal calmly, showing little emotion to emphasize his professionalism. “I can’t divulge any more information, as it would breach doctor-patient confidentiality, but you should know that if anything were to happen as a result of his work with you, I will have a difficult time ignoring your complicity.”

Crawford’s temper flared. “Will is fine, Dr. Lecter! At least as fine as Will Graham can be, considering his circumstances. He has told me so himself and if you want to toss around accusations, don’t forget that I brought you here to be his mainstay. You would be failing him just as much as I would.”

“Of course.” Hannibal rose, tugging his blazer and patting it straight. “Forgive my frankness. I only do it out of concern for Will and I would hope you would be just as frank with me if you found yourself in my position. He is a rare gift to this world and I wouldn’t want to see him ruined by the horrors of human atrocity.”

“Thank you for the consideration, Hannibal. I should hope Will can trust me enough to tell me what’s on his mind.” Crawford stood to show Hannibal out. “I appreciate the concern.”

“Why don’t you join me for dinner soon. It’s been too long since I’ve cooked for you.” Hannibal smiled, knowing Jack could never refuse a gourmet meal.

“That would be wonderful. I’ll check my calendar and get back to you.” Jack shut the door behind Hannibal as he swiftly left, his face falling into a scowl. He didn’t want to let go of Will, but he couldn’t help but be disturbed by Hannibal’s warning.

As Hannibal strolled down the halls of the BAU, he smirked in self-congratulation. The seed of doubt had been planted: Jack Crawford was aware that Will was capable of violent acts, a half-truth that would come in useful when the time came. The Razor would slice Will and Crawford’s friendship and professional relationship in half, leaving it in tatters and Will begging for Hannibal’s support and consolation. One piece had been moved and it was time to move on to the next. 


	9. Fools Rush In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's encephalitis takes it's toll on his classroom; Hannibal begins an unorthodox treatment during his therapy with Will; Chilton finds out some disturbing information about Charles Lin.

“The largest debate when it comes to the scientific and the psychological aspects of forensics is the way we interpret evidence, motive, and what we can rely on more when it comes to presenting these things in court. For those of you who are geared more towards science, interpreting the evidence means dissecting what it is right in front of you. What you see is what the court sees and sometimes, due to human error, what we see isn’t always what’s there. Or not there.” Will sat on the desk of his lecture hall speaking loudly and authoritatively to a crowded room of trainees. It was only during lectures that he felt most comfortable in his skin; he didn’t need to make eye contact with any of his students and he could hide behind the frames of his glasses, allowing him to present himself as someone much gruffer and more commanding than he truly was. “Scientific evidence can be wrong and without the psychological side of interpretation, a jury could condemn an innocent person to jail for an indeterminate amount of time. For those of you hoping to become profilers, you must look past the evidence to piece together the why. We classify psychology as a science, but as profilers we are more akin to philosophers: Why does the suspect commit their crime? What drives them? What is the design to their patterns and motives? Think of what the lab provides you with as a blueprint and yourself as the architect. You must step back from the two-dimensional and envision the construction of your suspect’s mind. What lies in each corner? You have to know your suspect to catch them because scientific evidence isn’t always going to be enough and the earlier you understand criminal motives and patterns, the quicker you will apprehend the suspect. Serial killers in particular are difficult to find early due to the fact that most of them escalate with each kill and unfortunately there will often be a high body count before they’re finally taken down. They start small; some of them kill for years undetected until they spiral into frenzy. Obviously, you want to stop them before they slip up, which is why forensic psychology is both necessary and slippery. We can only make informed assumptions, sometimes right but often too vague to carve the pathway to our killers.”

Will looked around the room. Many of his students were typing notes, laptop screens lighting their faces with a dull blue tint. Some were rapt with attention, too absorbed in his words to just merely copy down the discussion without actually processing what it was he was saying. He began to experience dissonance within himself. He felt invigorated by his own words and the hold he had on his students; they respected him and knew about his reputation as an incredibly talented profiler. The satisfaction he felt in being able to educate these budding agents was calming, but at the same time he couldn’t help but recognize that he was also talking about himself. He was the architect who caught killers quickly and efficiently, something his contemporaries weren’t nearly as adept at. His work in the field was too important to let go of and in that moment he realized that quitting was not an option. _Frederick won’t be happy about that_ , he thought.

“First and foremost, your function as a forensic psychologist is to assess criminal competency. The people you will be profiling, analyzing, and studying will disturb you. They will make you question humanity and what the definition of insanity is.” Will cleared his throat and clicked the small remote that rest on his desk so that a picture of Garret Jacob Hobbs appeared on the large projection screen behind him. “Insanity. You will hear that so many times it will barely be a word anymore. The first thing a defense team will cling to is an insanity plea. How many of you think Garret Jacob Hobbs was insane?”

About a third of the class raised their hands with trepidation. Will looked up at the picture; Garret Jacob and Abigail Hobbs smiled back at him in their hunting gear, just another father and daughter bonding over a shared pastime. He shared a similar pastime with his father. Quietly, Freddie Lounds’ voice came to his mind and hung there like cigarette smoke slowly evaporating into humid air. _He catches insane men because he can think like them_.

“Sane or insane is subjective, isn’t it? Defense lawyers push for insanity because it comes with a lighter sentence, which is why you’ll have prosecutors on your back to prove that the accused was aware of what they were doing and that it was wrong. That way the accused will be put away for much longer. Or worse. Garret Jacob Hobbs in my opinion was not insane.” With that, Freddie Lounds was pushed out of his mind altogether. No, that meant he wasn’t insane either. At least that’s what he told himself. “He purposely sought out girls that looked like his daughter to keep himself from killing her. An insane person would not have that kind of insight into his or her own pathology. Hobbs knew he had a problem, which required a solution that kept his daughter safe, safe from his penchants. He loved his daughter. And he resented her. He apologized to her right before slitting her throat. These may sound like the actions of an insane man, but if he were truly insane, he wouldn’t have had those thoughts at all.”

A splitting headache ripped into Will’s temples fiercely and without warning. For a brief moment, the room became brighter and his peripheral vision blurred. He shut his eyes tightly, ribbons of light dancing in the darkness behind their lids.

“Mr. Graham?” Will’s eyes flickered open and he saw his students staring at him concernedly. One of the more extroverted trainees acted as the class spokeswoman. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm?” Will said softly as he slowly adjusted to his surroundings. “What happened?”

“Um, I don’t know.” She stared back at him, her brows furrowed. “You kind of just disappeared for a second. One minute you were talking and the next, you were like, zoned out.”

“Zoned out? What do you mean zoned out?” Will grew short with her, causing a sense of uneasiness to wash over the class.

“You sat there for about thirty seconds with your eyes shut,” another student chimed in. “You didn’t seem very present.”

“Okay.” Will took off his glasses and massaged his forehead. “I’ve been having bad migraines lately, so I apologize if any of you were frightened. I assure you there’s nothing to be worried about. I’m seeing a specialist soon.”

He scanned the troubled faces that populated the room. Some of the trainees murmured to each other, while others looked awkwardly down at their laptop screens.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he spat out at those who were talking. “Read chapters 7 through 13 in the forensics handbook and chapters 8, 9, and 10 in Concepts, Debates, and Practices. There will be a test next week. I’m not telling you which day, so be prepared for it the moment you step into this classroom on Tuesday. Dismissed.”

Will looked down at his watch as his students begrudgingly shuffled out of the room. They never knew what kind of mood their instructor was going to be in, but as of late, it was the Will Graham who was sour, pithy, and irked.

The drive from Quantico to Baltimore was usually about an hour and forty-five minutes after rush hour, giving Will plenty, if not too much, time to retreat into his thoughts. Often, he would map out exactly what he wanted to talk to Hannibal Lecter about during their sessions, purposely avoiding certain areas he felt should remain private. His relationship with Chilton was one he had planned to keep outside the confines of Hannibal’s office, but that was no longer an option. Still, there were just some things he wanted to keep to himself. Like how Chilton had cooked him dinner on Sunday night before his leaving to reunite with his dogs, who were thrilled to see him when he finally walked through the door of his tiny house. He replayed that night as he followed the interstate.

_Pollo a la Brasa_ , Chilton had said as he chopped red bell peppers, his back to Will who leaned against the kitchen island. _It’s very popular in Peru and my mother made it for me all the time when I was growing up_. Will had watched him while experiencing a tingling warmth that crept from the top of his head through the rest of his body. Perhaps it was the domesticity of the moment that brought him such a specific feeling of pleasure or the fact that he was mesmerized by the way the thin black fabric of Chilton’s cotton t-shirt stretched across his back. _I’ll admit I don’t cook much anymore, so I can’t promise it will be any good_. It had been delicious; homey and simplistic, but had certainly given Hannibal’s cooking a run for its money just in terms of flavor. _I don’t see the point of making a huge mess if I’m eating alone_. Will could certainly relate to that. _To be honest, I’ve been primarily microwaving frozen foods and just eating it in front of the TV. It can’t be that bad if they’re Amy’s Organic though, right? You’re forcing me to be more bougie than I really am, cooking a meal like this_. Will had laughed hard at that, pointing out how expensive his clothes were and his fancy car and the heated floors, all luxuries the bourgeoisies could afford. _Who am I kidding? I’ve always been gauche deep down_.Will had asked him if he spoke Spanish. _Obviously_. He’d crept up behind him and wrapped his arms around Chilton’s waist, resting his head on his shoulder, whispering in his ear how sexy he thought that was. _Stop_. Chilton had blushed and looked down at the cutting board. _I have more vegetables to cut and you’re distracting me_. He had sighed and dropped the knife on the counter top when Will began to kiss his neck. _If you start this now, we’ll be eating burnt chicken. Cut it out._

Will snapped out of his reverie when he felt his headache grow substantially worse, as if an ice pick was slowly piercing the back of his head. His temples throbbed and he could feel sweat collecting at his hairline. After finally arriving in Baltimore, he parked his car outside of Hannibal’s residence and buried his head in his hands, tempted to cancel the appointment to go lie in the soothing dark of his home. He didn’t feel in any condition to drive at that moment however, so he crawled out of his car and made his way to Hannibal’s office.

“Will, how open are you to alternative neurotheraputic treatments?” Hannibal noticed beads of sweat collect on Will’s forehead while they sat across from each other, his office dimming as the sun set behind the Baltimore skyline. Hannibal couldn’t have anticipated Will’s frame of mind upon entering his office minutes previously, but he was thrilled to see that his friend and patient was in a very susceptible state of infirmity. The fevered sweetness of his encephalitis was thick in Hannibal’s nostrils.

“What kind of alternative treatments?” Will clutched the arms of his chair, trying hard to keep his vision in focus.

“Audio-Visual Entrainment.” Hannibal paused, gauging Will’s reaction. He watched as Will’s eyes moved about the room, widening in a desperate attempt to ground himself. “AVE is used to access the cerebral cortex by stimulating the thalamus, allowing a practitioner to better influence cortical activity. You’re concerned that you may have a physical affliction that is causing your dissociative episodes, while I am more inclined to believe it is a mental illness. By using AVE, we can employ a physical treatment to aid in curing a mental disorder.”

Will nodded, staring into the middle distance. He could hear and understand Hannibal’s medical jargon, but the long-winded explanation kept him from being fully present.

“If you consent to this treatment, I will use a repetitive flickering light to excite your thalamus and neocortex in order to manipulate the frequency of your brainwaves, putting you in a calming state to relieve stress, assist you in sleeping, and hopefully keep you from experiencing any more dissociation.” Hannibal stood up out of his chair and walked over to Will, looming above him authoritatively. “Will, do I have your consent?”

“Do you think it’ll work?” Will looked up at him in agony. His head felt as if it were both in a tightening vice and being torn in half down the middle.

“I cannot guarantee it with one hundred percent confidence, but I believe there is a strong possibility it will have a positive effect on you. I think it is worth exploring.” Hannibal placed a hand on Will’s shoulder, comforting him with a warm smile.

“Then I consent,” Will said breathlessly. He pulled out a nearly empty bottle of aspirin and dry swallowed more pills than the recommended dosage.

Hannibal turned and walked to a cabinet on the other side of his fireplace, smugly congratulating himself for convincing Will to say yes to what would resoundingly not be Audio-Visual Entrainment. He unbuttoned his jacket with an artfully swift hand to pull a small key out of his vest pocket, sliding it into the cabinet’s lock and opening it to reveal a few compact items. On the lower shelf sat a medical bag filled with basic first-aid necessities as well as various drugs in both pill and liquid form. Hannibal rifled through the bag and pulled out a needle, a vial of sodium amytal, and a small rubber tourniquet, sliding them into his coat pockets. On the above shelf was a DAVID PAL eye set and headphones connected to small battery pack, the actual equipment used for Audio-Visual Entrainment, a therapy he currently used on a select few patients for it’s proper use. However, Hannibal removed the triangularly shaped matte black strobe light that sat next to it, holding it at eye level for a brief few seconds, his chest swelling with excitement. At its center was a round fluorescent circle with a black dot in the middle of it so that it resembled a shockingly white iris surrounding an inky malevolent pupil. Instead of subduing Will’s brain waves into a state of calm with low pulsing frequencies to steady his mind, the harsh flashing of the strobe light would undoubtedly cause an epileptic seizure. Adding the sodium amytal would make it easier for Hannibal to plant false memories and induce catatonia as well as further encourage dissociative episodes. Everything was falling into place.

Hannibal placed the strobe light on the side desk next to Will, who was already drenched with sweat by the time Hannibal activated it. The sun had fully set by then; the room was lit only by the crackling fire, soft wall lamps, and a small desk light, making the pulsing flashes of light strike the quarters like savage lightening. Hannibal darted to his desk to grab a small notebook and pen, setting them beside the light. He then got down on one knee, extricating the tourniquet and softly pulling Will’s arm towards him.

“To supplement the strobe, I’m going to administer a mild barbiturate in order to better facilitate the activation of the thalamus.” He looked up at Will, who stared at the light, already becoming entranced by it. “Do I have your permission to do so?”

“Uh-huh,” slurred Will as he began dripping with sweat.

Hannibal rolled up Will’s sleeve and tied the tourniquet tightly around his upper arm, the pressure causing blue veins to pop up and reveal themselves beneath Will’s pale skin. Hannibal tapped them lightly; they sprang back up against the pads of his fingertips like warm, pulsating rubber. He then pulled out the needle and vial, tipping it upside down and sticking the needle into its cap. He drew back the plunger of the syringe and drained a generous amount of the liquid into its barrel. He didn’t want to cause Will to overdose necessarily, but he was certainly about to administer more of the drug than the common doctor would, especially for an introductory shot. Slowly, Hannibal inserted the needle into a supple vein, pulling back the plunger to draw blood into the barrel; He watched thin strands of crimson erupt and curl into the clear liquid in the same way cream billows in black coffee. He then gently pushed the syringe and watched the cloudy pink fluid evanesce.

“Will, as soon as the drug is in your system I want you to draw a clock for me.”

Will breathed heavily, barely following what was going on around him. He could only focus on Hannibal’s face, the man’s placid expression anchoring him to the small bit of reality he was clinging on to. Again, he nodded in compliance with the request.

“The time is 7:14.”

After withdrawing the needle and snapping off the tourniquet, Hannibal flipped open the notebook to a blank page. He took Will’s hand and wrapped it around the pen, bringing the tip of it to paper. Hannibal stood and watched as Will drew a nearly symmetrical clock face, numbers evenly spaced and the arms pointed at exactly 7:14. In rhythm with the flashing light, Hannibal flipped the page back and forth, revealing another clock he had drawn earlier: The numbers were skewed to the right side of a poorly drawn circle, segmented into vertical clusters by two short lines that were meant to be its arms.

“Wh-what?” Will stammered as Hannibal craned his head to better see the clocks from Will’s perspective. “What’s wrong with the clock? Why is it –”

“What do you mean?” Hannibal stopped flipping the page so that it landed on Will’s clock. “This is a good clock, Will.”

“Oh.”

Again, Hannibal began flipping the page back and forth as Will focused intently on it.

“No. There’s something wrong with it.”

Hannibal let his clock sit in front of Will for half a minute, allowing him to stare at it in confusion.

“I assure you, there is nothing wrong with the clock.” Hannibal flipped the page back to Will’s clock and let it rest.

“Okay.” Will’s head slumped back abruptly causing him to jerk forward to regain balance. “Yes. You’re right. It must be the light.”

Hannibal was seated at that point, confident that the distorted clock was firmly planted in Will’s cerebral cortex.

“The strobe causes neurons to fire en masse, like striking many piano keys at once. It is normal to experience some confusion during the early stages of this particular kind of therapy. You will soon adjust to it.”

“I don’t feel good.” Will’s hair and shirt were sopping wet and his chest heaved raggedly with each breath. He kept his eyes focused on the clock until it began to mutate.

“Will, focus on me.”

“Something’s wrong! It’s like there are two –“ His eyes began to dart back and forth. “I’m seeing two things at the same time!”

“Keep looking at me, Will. This is normal. Your neurons are firing on all cylinders and are allowing you to experience more than one reality. They are at odds with each other. You need to stay calm.”

Will lifted his head and settled his eyes on Hannibal’s face, which began contorting, his features moving and blurring.

“The dissonance might foster a change in the mind –“

He watched in horror as Hannibal’s nose drifted to the right side of his face, pushing an eye towards his ear while his mouth and left eye were pulled up, smearing and smudging him to look like a gruesome work crafted by Picasso. Will gasped, trying to scream, but the noise got caught in his throat so that he could only make gurgling noises as his body convulsed uncontrollably.

“Is something wrong?” Hannibal sounded far away and his voice bounced off the walls of his office as if it were reverberating through a vast cavern.

Will’s eyes rolled back into its sockets, his head vibrating atop the immutable column of his neck. His seizure came on much quicker than Hannibal anticipated.

Hannibal stayed seated as Will rode the seizure out, finally relaxing into a catatonic state. There was the small window of opportunity for Hannibal to begin planting ideas in Will’s fragile mind.

“Will?” Hannibal cocked his head and stared intently at the slumped, clammy man in front of him. Will only slurred in response, barely present and on the edge of a blackout. “Will. I need you to understand what I am about to tell you. Nod if you can hear me.”

Will barely nodded as his head swayed from side to side.

“I am the only person you can trust, Will. I am the only person that has your best interest at heart. You cannot trust Jack Crawford. You cannot trust Alana Bloom. You cannot trust Frederick Chilton and you cannot trust yourself. You especially cannot trust yourself. You are capable of terrible things, of violence, of murder. You can be a killer, can’t you? Killing is very easy. Jack Crawford wants you to kill in your mind. Alana Bloom knows how easily you could do it, which is why she’s afraid of you. Abigail Hobbs is afraid of you too because you’re just like her father. And Frederick Chilton is manipulating you. He is using you to further his career. We talk about you at my dinner table. He tells me about how fascinating you are, especially now that he thinks you’re in love with him. It is all a lie so you can eventually become a prize specimen in his hospital. I am your only friend, I am your only ally, and I am the only person who truly understands you. You and I, Will, we are alike. We are singularities that share an unfathomable bond. When you finally kill, I will keep you safe, because you are rare and exceptional, as am I. Do not fear the darkness inside you; it will set you free.”

Faraway barking bounced off Will’s eardrums. A familiar, pungent stench filled his nostrils and his muscles ached. Slowly, he opened his eyes only to find himself standing in pitch black, disorienting him even further. He recoiled in fright when Winston brushed against him, thrusting him back into the present where he stood in the middle of his house surrounded by barking dogs waiting for their dinner. The stench he smelled earlier was his own, the front of his shirt still slightly damp with sweat.

He looked at the clock that sat on his nightstand, it’s muted blue tinge reading 9:45. He blinked and the numbers changed to 4:95. He blinked again and saw them change one more time to 7:14. The numbers flashed and swirled and slowly began to melt like hot wax. He broke away from the clock’s hold over him and flipped a light on, tripping over Buster and nearly collapsing to the floor. The soft light stung his eyes and almost immediately a headache tore into him. He felt helpless and completely alone. For a fleeting moment, he thought of calling Chilton but it seemed too late and for some indiscernible reason, he didn’t feel like talking to him. Will stared at the clock, watching the numbers change minute by minute until it read 10:03. Did I see Dr. Lecter today? He poured himself a glass of whiskey and downed it in one gulp. Did I?

“You need to be careful, Frederick.” Gideon picked at his nails, speaking in his usual tone of disdainful sarcasm.

“With what? Have you decided to report me to the authorities yet?” Chilton rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time during this most recent session with his inmate.

“Oh, no, no, no, Frederick. I’m waiting for the right time to do that.” Gideon leaned forward, bringing his face close the metal bars of his cell. “It doesn’t help that your bureaucratic stalling has kept my lawyers tied up.”

“Protocol, Abel,” Chilton retorted. “Every hospital has it.”

“No need to be smug about it.”

Chilton sighed with annoyance. “Enough with the attitude, Abel. I don’t have any more time for your bombast today.”

“More important things to do then? Like eating bonbons with the prison guards?”

“Do you even hear yourself speak sometimes?” Chilton looked at the man incredulously, shaking his head. He looked down at his watch. “We have 10 more minutes. If you’d like to spout fantasies about what you think I do when I'm not listening to your nonsense, you can do that with Miggs on your own time. Otherwise, you can be cooperative. Like you used to be.”

“Oh! You mean before you convinced me I was the Chesapeake Ripper?” Gideon grinned, having delivered a stinging blow. Chilton stood up with a sneer plastered across his face.

“Goodbye Abel.” Chilton motioned for an orderly to relocate him back to the depths of the hospital.

“Oh, but don’t you want to hear my juicy bit of gossip?” Gideon stood and grabbed the bars in front of him, teasing Chilton with a self-satisfied expression. Chilton drew closer to him as he began to say in a singsong voice, making sure to add extra vibrato to the last word, “I know something you don’t know.”

“Please, enthrall me with your acumen.” Chilton sat back down and raised his eyebrows in anticipation.

“Someone in this hospital has a crush on you.” Abel tapped his fingers on metal with delight. “It’s very cute really.”

“Well, that’s very flattering, but you’re not my type.”

“Oh, you’d love that wouldn’t you.” Gideon lowered his voice. “It’s okay, Frederick, you can admit it. How often do you think about felating me?”

“And once again, you prove to be absolutely piggish. You’re starting to sound like Miggs. Not someone I’d aspire to be like.” Gideon shrugged. “Alright, enough putzing around; I’d actually like to know what you have to say considering the psychiatric implications of having a patient who has any sort of romantic inclinations towards their doctor.”

“It seems our dear friend Charles has moved on from me and has his big brown eyes set on you.” Gideon faked a pout. “Disappointing, really. I was enjoying the attention. Really stroked my ego.”

“I’m sorry you've been spurned.” Chilton paused, waiting for Gideon to continue. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Do you have any evidence to back up this claim besides playground chatter?”

“We were discussing it two days ago, right after lunch.” Chilton took a mental note, eager to return to his office. “What, Big Brother wasn’t listening that day?”

“You’re very paranoid for someone who thinks so highly of himself.” Chilton stood, once again motioning for the orderly. “Thank you for your cooperation, Abel. You may have actually done a favor for Charles. Maybe you’ll get an extra pudding cup with dinner tonight.”

“Ah! Delightful. You are truly a gracious and benevolent leader.” Chilton had already begun walking away before Gideon could get in his final jab.

Back in his office, Chilton plugged his Bose headphones into a pristinely maintained MacBook sifting through folders and files to find the one containing that week’s recorded conversations and goings on. He didn’t personally listen to every hour of audio; he didn’t have the time or patience for such an undertaking, so he often relegated the task to other residents, assigning them specific inmates. They reported to him any pertinent information that may come in handy for therapy and rehabilitation and as the hours piled up, often times residents wouldn’t get to some recordings for days, even weeks after a conversation occurred, especially if it was of an inmate who wasn’t very interesting or had been incarcerated for quite awhile.

Chilton wasn’t displeased with his staff for that very reason. There’s only so much time in a week and despite not being the most beloved of administrators, he certainly wasn’t cruel enough to make his already overworked staff stay after hours just to listen to Abel Gideon wax philosophic. He found the correct timestamp Gideon had referred to, remembering that he had his session with Lin that very day, giving credibility to Gideon’s claim before having even pressed play. Chilton started the audio and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk in front of him.

_Any updates in the world of Charles Lin?_ Gideon’s voice was low and disinterested.

_Not particularly. I’d say therapy went well today_. Charles's voice on the other hand was bright and cheerful.

_ Oh really? I’m glad to hear that. My therapy sessions with Dr. Chilton are always dreadfully boring. He’s quite an annoying little shit isn’t he? _

Chilton rolled his eyes. Gideon’s attitude was even more disdainful when left to his own devices.

_ I don’t see why everyone hates him so much. He’s not so bad when you get past his hard exterior. _

_ His hard exterior, eh? Are we talking about Dr. Chilton or a Tootsie Pop? _

_ I just mean he’s a person is all. Look at what he has to deal with here. Wouldn’t you be an asshole if you had to run this place? _

_ That’s a good point Charles. But I’m sure things would run a bit smoother here if he wasn’t such an imbecile. _

_ I think you’re hard on him, Abel. _

Chilton couldn’t help but feel a small amount of gratitude towards Lin; finally, someone understood his perspective. Even if it was a man incarcerated for murdering half a dozen people.

_ I dare say, Chuck, it sounds like you’re a little taken with him. _

_ Oh, please Abel. That would be foolish. _

_ Well, you know what they say: “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.” _

_ What’s that supposed to mean? _

_ You can’t really help who you fall in love with, can you? _

There was a very long pause. Chilton turned up the volume, hoping to discern anything that could inform the tone of the conversation. Gideon’s voice returned, melodically almost.

_ You already know that, don’t you Charles? You know about love. _

_ I do. I think I love too much. But I’m done with all that. _

_ You have feelings for him. Do you plan on killing him like your other boyfriends? _

_ No! God, why would you say that? _

_ Just wondering. I would love to slit the fucker’s throat, but that’s just me. _

Chilton gulped at the thought.

_ That’s disturbing, Abel. Even for you. _

_ What could you possibly see in him, Charles? I’m **dying** to know. _

_ I think he truly understands me, to be honest. I think we connect on some level, like we have a shared history. _

_ That’s a bit of a stretch, I’d say. _

_ Well, you’re not there during our therapy sessions. _

_ Touché. _

_ And I think he’s handsome. I like looking at him. _

_ Oh, really? You like gawking at that sneering, sniveling little man? _

_ He doesn’t sneer at me. Probably because I’m not an asshole, like you are. _

_ Why you cheeky monkey! Charles and Frederick sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G. _

_ You are so childish. _

Chilton couldn’t help but scoff at that observation in utter agreement.

_ I guess he’s not so bad looking, now that I think about it. I’m usually blinded by the fact that I want to punch him square in his smug little face. _

_ He has beautiful eyes. They’re very kind. And he has an almost Roman profile. _

_ You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about him haven’t you? _

_ I suppose so. I quite like him. _

_ Do you **fancy** him? _

_ Ugh, Abel. You’re so pretentious. “Fancy.” Please. _

_ Fine, do you have a crush on him? _

_ Why does that matter? _

_ You do, don’t you? Do you think about running off together? Do you think about him coming down to your cell at night so you two can fuck? _

_ Stop it Abel. You’re starting to sound like Miggs. _

_ Okay, fine; “Make love” if you prefer. Do you daydream about him falling in love with you too and finding a way to break you out of here so you can ride off into the sunset? Because that’s honestly the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. _

_ That’s why they’re daydreams, Abel! _

It was clear that Lin had taken on a very angry and frustrated tone, something that made Chilton squirm in his seat. He was uncomfortable with the idea that this man had genuine feelings for him. At first, it was a little flattering to hear about his Roman profile and kind eyes, but this was crossing into a territory that Chilton was unfamiliar with.

_ I know Dr. Chilton isn’t going set me free or be my boyfriend. But maybe – _

_ Maybe what? _

_ Maybe he’ll fall in love with me too. _

_ Oh, you’re in love with him now! _

_ No. NO! You’re putting words in my mouth! All I’m saying is it’s not impossible to have a forbidden romance. There are plenty of impossible love stories written in hundreds of volumes checked out of libraries and worn down by too many fingers flipping their pages. _

_ You get poetic when you talk about love. _

_ Can you imagine though? _

_ It sounds unethical and highly improbable. _

_ That’s what makes it so alluring. _

_ Always want what you can’t have. Well, Charles. It never hurts to dream, I suppose. _

_ That’s exactly what I’m saying. _

_ So, did I tell you about the time I murdered my wife? It’s a very funny story. _

Chilton pressed pause and removed the headphones, planting his feet back on the ground and leaning his elbows on the desk. The conversation painted quite a troubling predicament. Chilton was fully aware of transference and the complications it could have in a patient’s therapy. On the one hand, he didn’t want to exacerbate Lin’s infatuation with him by indulging his desire to spend more time with him, but by ending their therapy altogether, Chilton ran the risk of pushing Lin into various states of trauma such as sudden depression or violent outbursts. He had to tread lightly and the fact that he had never dealt with transference before was going to prove tricky. He thought about scanning his library to find a reference on the issue, but decided he wanted to leave for the day to get as far way from Lin as possible. Chilton had been afraid of patients before; many of them threatened to murder him in all sorts of detailed manners, but knowing Lin’s history and pathology scared him far more than any of the violent promises he received from his most aggressive patients. Lin was peculiar: He fell hopelessly in love with his victims, recognizing a sadness in them that he could cure with the unparalleled intoxication of being deeply in love with another human being. He lived for that connection, but felt even higher when he was able to set his lovers free at their most joyful, as if he were doing them a great favor, possibly even believing that he was sending them to heaven. Lin may have recognized the sadness in him, but Chilton would be damned if he didn’t put his life before the lunatics that resided at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

He gathered his things in a hurry and walked briskly to his car, screeching away towards the safety of his home.


	10. Transference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chilton has a troubling confrontation with Charles Lin and finds out some bad news; Will wants to try something he's never done before; A dangerous encounter between Will and Chilton leaves both of them shaken to their core.

Transference is quite a common occurrence between therapist and patient seeing as that the relationship is an incredibly intimate one. A patient reveals their most private thoughts and experiences, making it easy for them to form an attachment to their doctor, especially if they are feeling particularly vulnerable. A bond is formed; trust is implicit. Why wouldn’t a patient develop amorous feelings in such a situation? Further, both doctor and patient aren’t immune from attraction. Transference can go both ways. A doctor might greatly enjoy the company of a patient, especially if they find themselves identifying with them on some level or even charmed by a good sense of humor. Obviously, that is what professional boundaries are for, but regardless, it can be an uncomfortable situation to find oneself in.

Dr. Frederick Chilton, administrator of The Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally Insane had never experienced such a circumstance. Of course, in the past, he had found himself physically attracted to a patient here or there, but he was good at keeping those feelings at bay. It was incredibly easy to do so at BSHCI because his patients were violent and terrifying; many of them didn’t have the capacity for love anyway and the inmates universally hated him. No need for worry. But then there was Charles Lin.

Lin completely baffled Chilton. He wasn’t like the other troubled offenders he’d seen day in and day out. For years before being promoted to administrator, Chilton was employed as a full-time psychiatrist at the hospital and had gotten used to hearing disturbing things from disturbed individuals. Conversations about dismemberment and gutting and torture had become ho-hum; he’d heard everything by the time he took helm of the hospital. Chilton wasn’t easily shaken. But then there was Charles Lin.

Chilton was ready to give up on coming up with a diagnosis. Lin’s problem seemed to be that he loved too much and yet he demonstrated signs associated with psychopaths, making him an enigma, a dichotomous killer with tender tendencies. He killed and tortured animals as a child; he was very bright but also a drifter, he even had a few run-ins with the law. But his heart was enormous. It swelled for his lovers and lifted him to an unparalleled euphoria like a hot air balloon to the sky. Psychopaths emphatically did not have the capacity for that type of love. Sure, they were egotistical and reveled in being worshipped by a lover, but Lin had no ego at all. In fact, he was incredibly self-deprecating, making comments here and there about being the ultimate black sheep, bringing unwanted attention to an already disappointed family. He was crushed that their faces were plastered all over the news, reporters asking them what went wrong. Why didn’t they see the signs? He talked about his final lover’s betrayal as if it were his own fault as well. _Of course it’s my fault! Juan figured me out because I was careless. Sure, he could have let me go if he really loved me, but I don’t think Juan can love at all. I did all the loving for him. We could have been happy. Well, he could have been happy. I fucked everything up._ But then there was Frederick Chilton.

Lin had an acute ability to see through Chilton’s glossy exterior. He could look past the ego and the peacocking, piercing through those begrudging walls to see the man’s loneliness and desperation. It was the same exact qualities he saw in all the other men he killed. That’s why his crush on Abel Gideon was so short lived: Gideon wasn’t a lonely man. He was spiteful, proud, and highly aware of his effect on people. He could lay the charm on thick and after a while it was grating and unattractive. But then there was Frederick Chilton.

_Frederick and Charles sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G._ Gideon’s taunting haunted both men. Lin sat in his cell thinking of his psychiatrist hours on end, dreaming of all the ways he could cure Chilton of his lonesomeness. Chilton on the other hand spent too many nights worrying about how to rectify the situation without disappointing Lin too much. Who knows what consequences could come out of cutting ties with the man? Chilton found himself lying awake at Will Graham’s side, listening to the shallow rhythm of his breathing, trying too hard to focus on falling asleep as opposed to the scratching of Lin’s words in the corners of his mind. It’s nearly impossible to fall asleep when you try to will yourself to do so.

After reading text books and papers and opinions on how to deal with Lin’s transference, Chilton decided it was best for him to bring in a third party, someone to intervene until he felt safe enough to resume therapy with Lin. It was a compromise as the consensus in the psychiatric community was to talk through those feelings in order to rectify them. However that seemed to only apply to non-violent offenders, and certainly not mass murderers. He seemed to have a harder time finding opinions on what to do in his kind of situation as the few that existed clashed with each other. Some psychiatrists recommended treating a violent patient with the same kind of counter transference techniques used on conventional ones; others believed the safety of a psychiatrist was first and foremost and that discontinuing therapy with someone already behind bars and highly monitored would be sufficient enough. There has to be a clear line in the sand when it comes to what is more important, a patient’s well being or a doctor’s peace of mind. But then there was compromise.

_Compromise, compromise, compromise_. The word pulsed through Chilton’s mind as he walked into the grand room that his patients were shackled in during therapy sessions. _Charles, you don’t have to worry. We’ll resume therapy again as soon as you’ve worked through your feelings for me. It’s the perfect compromise._

“I don’t want to compromise,” said Lin as he crossed his arms, tears beginning to swell in his eyes. “You’re my doctor. I trusted you. And who is this Dr. Farley? Why can’t I just talk to Dr. Maggio like I do on Mondays?”

“I picked Dr. Farley because she’s a woman, quite frankly. I don’t want you shifting these feelings on to Dr. Maggio too.” Chilton attempted a supportive glance, but it only came off as strained. “She is very good and I have full confidence that she’ll help you. And like I said, we will eventually resume therapy. I just want to make sure we’re maintaining a healthy doctor-patient relationship.”

“You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?” Lin’s expression swiftly changed from distraught to cold and detached. Chilton couldn’t help but think that was the last expression Lin’s victims saw before he murdered them. “That’s what this is about. You’re holding my crimes against me.”

“Charles, given your history –“

“Do you think I’m going break out of here and kill you?” Lin said flatly, causing Chilton to shift uncomfortably in his seat. He expected Lin to sound desperate and hurt. This kind of iciness immediately threw up red flags and Chilton began to think that maybe this wasn’t the best course of action after all. “I’m not one for revenge, so you don’t have to worry.”

“I find myself in a very unusual situation, Charles. You have to understand that.” Chilton gulped, having unexpectedly gotten emotional. _This is a fucking disaster_.

“Well I don’t!” Lin bellowed, his voice echoing through the room. The outburst startled even the orderlies. “I’m not an idiot Dr. Chilton. You spy on me and then you punish me.”

“This isn’t a punishment. This is a step back for both of us to gain some perspective.” Chilton drew in a long breath and slowly exhaled. “I can’t help but feel complicit in this Charles. I may have been too lax with you. I apologize if I overstepped any professional boundaries just because you’re a pleasure to be around, which I can’t say about your peers.”

“This feels like a betrayal.”

“That’s okay, Charles,” said Chilton with an overtaxed smile. “It’s healthy to feel this way and that is something you can discuss with Dr. Farley. We’ll resume therapy as soon you’ve worked through your feelings for me. It’s the perfect compromise.”

Lin stared daggers at him and went quiet as Chilton decided they were finished with the conversation, rising from his seat to leave; he couldn’t stand being so uncomfortable for much longer.

“Dr. Chilton?” said Lin softly. Chilton looked up at him wide-eyed, trying not to be too shaken by his velvety voice. “Dr. Chilton?”

Chilton drew closer to the cell, staring at the space just above Lin’s eyes in an attempt to stay calm. In his peripheral vision, he could see the dark pools that Lin's eyes had become. It terrified him.

“What?” Chilton’s voice faltered a bit. He was a foot away, getting as close to his patient as he could without feeling in danger.

“Fuck your compromise,” he hissed. “You’ll see what a mistake this is when you’re getting fired for causing another one of your patients to do something violent.”

“Is that a threat?” Chilton quickly stepped back from the cell, his heart thumping against his ribcage.

“It’s a guarantee.” Lin smiled for a few seconds before bursting out in laughter. Chilton froze and clung to a stoic expression. He knew he was seeing Lin at his core. This was a man who tore another man’s jaw off when he felt betrayed by him.

“Whatever you say, Charles,” Chilton countered in a low, measured voice as he motioned for the orderlies. “It’s time for you to go.”

He turned on his heel and walked quickly up the stairs, puffing his chest out to distract from how anxious he was. He felt Lin’s eyes burning on his back; for an instant he wanted to turn around and look back but he quickly shook himself of the idea knowing it would only petrify him even more. The walk to his office felt unbearably long and despite how far away he got from the holding cells, he felt as if he were being followed by the same imaginary monsters that chased him down dark halls in his childhood home. He slammed the door in fear when he finally raced into his office and sat at his desk. He brought both hands to his face, shutting his eyes tightly and inhaling deeply to shake off the tight knot of anxiety that pooled in his chest. Not one minute later did his phone ring. He picked it up dejectedly.

“Yes?” he said, sighing.

“I have Robert Richards on line one, Dr. Chilton” His secretary sounded bored as she often did in the mid-afternoon. “He’s Abel Gideon’s –“

“Lawyer. Yes, I know.” Already he felt the heat of anger creep up under his collar. _This should be good._ “Put him through.”

Chilton took a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever rigmarole Gideon’s lawyer was going treat him to. “Dr. Chilton.”

“Hello, Doctor. How are you this beautiful afternoon?” Chilton rolled his eyes at such a lame platitude. _As if this asshole cares about my day_.

“Wonderful. And yourself?” Chilton rubbed his forehead and propped his feet up on the desk, leaning back in his chair and preparing for what was most likely going to be bad news.

“I’m just fantastic, Dr. Chilton. Fantastic.” The man let out a chuckle as if to suggest he had a great story behind all of those fantastics.

“What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve been expecting this call for quite a while now, so lets just get down to brass tacks: Dr. Gideon’s malpractice suit against you has been given the go ahead. I think your hospital has made us jump through enough hoops at this point.”

Chilton exhaled sharply through his nose, not quite sure how to respond. “I just – I just don’t think you have legs to stand on in this case.”

“Oh, but I do!” the lawyer said with glee, enjoying Chilton’s defeat. “Let me just walk you through how your negligence hits all of the requirements needed for a malpractice suit.”

“I don’t think that’s necess –“

“No, it’s my pleasure Dr. Chilton and I think it’s fair that you’re prepared for court. Firstly, a duty was owed to my client, which was for your facility to provide as much rehabilitation possible given his circumstances. You failed to do that when you used an outdated psychotherapy method that is not only a deviation from standard practices, but resulted in the death of a nurse, making you liable for all damages. You are, for lack of a better word, _fucked._ ”

“Is that your professional opinion,” Chilton growled into the receiver.

“Absolutely.”

“Well, then.” He paused. A million different insults and curse words boiling in him stopped just short of his lips. “I have some calls to make.”

“I’m sure you do.”

With that, Chilton heard a click and the call was over. He brought his feet back to the ground and folded his arms on the desk to lie his head in them face down. He tilted to the side to check the time, realizing that Will was still in class at that moment and calling him would be futile. Chilton just wanted to hear his voice for a few seconds so he called anyway, just to listen to Will’s voicemail greeting.

_ You have reached Will Graham. I was unable to answer the phone, so please leave your name and number and I will get back to you as soon as possible. _

Will pulled out his cell phone as he walked through the parking lot at FBI headquarters and saw a missed call from Chilton as well as an accompanying text message that read “Can I come over tonight???” Will smirked knowing that Chilton only used multiple punctuations when feeling stressed and needy. Will enjoyed it when Chilton was in such a mood because he often expressed himself physically to ease his troubles. He also enjoyed how Chilton held onto him after sex; the intimacy between them grew every time they saw each other, touched each other. Will found himself daydreaming about past encounters and how future ones would unfold, surprising himself sometimes at the things he fantasized about doing with the other man. The rapidness at which their relationship unfolded still left Will dizzy and bewildered at times, especially when he found himself staring at a female trainee’s ass or appreciating a little too much the way Alana Bloom’s wrap dresses hugged her tiny frame. Yet he spent more time thinking about Frederick Chilton and how his long fingers dragged languidly across his chest and stomach or the way he stared lustfully up at him when he had Will’s cock in his mouth.

Chilton naturally fell into a submissive role, something that Will appreciated as he continued to discover what it was exactly that he wanted. Chilton was incredibly patient, never asking or pressuring Will to do anything he wasn’t ready for; this was comforting to Will, but he began to feel like it wasn’t enough, like he was shortchanging the other man by only doing certain things. Of course he knew that Chilton was happy enough with what they had, but Will had always been a generous lover with women; he loved the way he could drive a woman to the edge of madness with just his mouth. Every time Chilton used his mouth that way, Will thought more and more about reciprocating, not only because deep-rooted Southern hospitality dictated it wasn’t very polite of him not to do so but because he was growing more and more curious about what it would feel like. He was intimidated by the idea of sucking Chilton off at first, assuming it was due to the sudden shift in his sexuality but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was insecure if anything. What if he was terrible at it? What if he didn’t like it? What if Chilton didn’t like it? These thoughts plagued Will, prompting him to wonder if he really wanted to do it at all. But then he’d remember how nervous and insecure he felt about going down on a woman for the first time. Despite the tips his few friends gave him about the best way to perform cunnilingus, he was still terrified he’d be a huge disappointment. Those familiar feelings brought him to the conclusion that it wasn’t the act itself he had an aversion to, just the anxiety that he’d fail at it. He knew deep down that it was silly of him to fret so much over it as Chilton was more than satisfied and further would never judge Will as harshly as he judged himself.

Will replied to Chilton’s text that he would love for him to come over and that maybe they could do something special before turning the ignition of his car. He was thrilled to be driving away from Quantico.

Will hadn’t been home for more than twenty minutes before he heard a loud knock at the door. It wasn’t the polite, gentle rapping he usually heard when Chilton came over, but a thunderous pounding that informed him of the mood the man standing outside was in before even having to open the door.

“Hi,” Will said cheerfully as he let Chilton in. He watched the man and the scowl he wore, immediately recognizing a steeping anger within him. “What’s wrong?”

Chilton stared back, his brows furrowed and lips tightly pursed. In an instant he had Will pinned to the wall, kissing him desperately while cradling the back of his neck. It left Will panting and surprised, never having seen Chilton be so domineering. His alarm melted into arousal as Chilton tugged his shirt off, rubbing his hands swiftly up and down Will’s smooth, naked chest. His tongue was just as unrelenting as his hands, migrating his mouth onto Will’s neck to kiss and bite it, sending jolts through Will’s body. Just as Will began to fight back against him, wanting to reassert himself as the dominant one, Chilton grabbed his wrists, pinning them up against the wall above his head.

“Oh,” Will said breathlessly, feeling his erection begin to strain against his zipper. In all of his fantasizing, he never imagined Chilton being the aggressor. He was used to dominating him and thrived on the way his lover pleaded for release, panting under him when they fucked.

Chilton pinched Will’s nipple, shooting electricity up his spine while still being restrained by his hands, making it hard for him to move. All he could muster was aroused squirming and he shivered when Chilton wrapped his free arm around his waist and pulled him to his hips so that their erections rubbed against each other’s. Chilton thrust against Will, still kissing him furiously, biting his lower lip, and forcing a pained whimper out of the man’s mouth. As he unzipped his trousers, Chilton grabbed Will’s hand and forced it down the front of him, his cock twitching at the sensation of a warm palm brushing up against it. A loud moan escaped from his lips as Will slowly caressed him, rubbing his hand in a circle on the underside of Chilton’s throbbing erection.

Chilton pulled away from Will’s swollen lips, tilting his head down to watch as the other man firmly gripped his cock and began pumping. He thrust up against his hand and moaned again. In that moment, Will realized that even though Chilton had been rough and assertive, it was still he that held ultimate power over the man. Will could very easily pull his hand away and leave the man a quivering mess, begging for him to continue.

“Keep going,” Chilton growled when Will halted his movements.

“You’re going to have to ask nicely, Frederick,” Will softly murmured.

Chilton lifted his head to see Will smiling at him and whimpered when he felt the man’s hand slide out of his pants. “Please keep going.”

Will snickered quietly at how easily Chilton fell back into submission. If it only took a few pumps of his prick for him to be a pleading wreck, Will wondered how much Chilton would fall apart if used his mouth. He could hear his heart pounding as he tried to make a decision. Was he ready for this? He savored having this much control over Chilton and it was that feeling that brought him to his knees, still panicky at what he was about to do.

“What?” Chilton looked down wide-eyed at Will, who tugged the man’s pants down and freed his cock. “I – I – “

Will chuckled at his sputtering and shushed him, taking hold of and palming Chilton’s cock again. He stared at it with trepidation, trying to shake off the fear of being subpar. He understood the mechanics of it, but was nervous still that he wouldn’t be able to transfer that knowledge into a performance. He registered how badly Chilton wanted it though when he felt fingers brush delicately through the curls of his hair. With that, Will wrapped his mouth around the head of Chilton’s cock and slowly moved it back and forth in tandem with his hand.

“Fuck!” Chilton cried out, clenching his fists in Will’s hair. He pulled back a little bit and panted as Will moved his head rhythmically. “Watch the teeth.”

Will quickly pulled his lips back so they fully enveloped his teeth, motivating him to try harder, to be better. Every moan that came from Chilton kept him going as he experimented with different ways he could use his mouth and tongue. He licked the length of Chilton from base to tip, swirling his tongue around the head as he became more and more aroused by the whimpers and indecipherable string of words that fell out of Chilton’s mouth. Will moaned when he realized it was Spanish flying out of Chilton, causing the man to buck his hips when he felt the vibration of Will’s noises around him.

Giving a blowjob was certainly more difficult than Will anticipated. In the back of his mind, he thanked every person that had ever blown him for engaging in such a tireless task. He struggled to time his breathing, having to pull away and let his hand do the work while he caught his breath. The act was made more difficult still just due to the sheer size of Chilton’s cock. The girth of it filled his mouth completely, but he didn’t want to give up; he was desperate to make Chilton cum for him.

“Am I doing okay?” Will looked up at Chilton as he continued to stroke him, blushing at his insecurity.

“Uh-huh,” Chilton said, as he looked down, his face sweaty and awash with agony. “Just keep going.”

Will took him into his mouth again, massaging his tongue against the head and slightly taken aback when he felt pre-cum dribble into his mouth. He whimpered when he felt hands grip his hair tightly. Chilton began to thrust gently, getting closer and closer to release while Will dropped his hand and he let the other man hold his head in place, concentrating on breathing and keeping from gagging as Chilton sped up, slamming into the back of Will’s throat and shouting out his name. Just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, Will felt Chilton’s hot cum fill his mouth and reveled in the desperate cries of pleasure he heard above him. Cum began to spill out his mouth, so he swallowed it before any more dripped down his chin, not particularly thrilled with the taste of it. Chilton pulled out of his mouth gingerly, still sensitive from his orgasm. As he pulled up is pants, Will stood up, wiping his mouth, which took the form of a goofy smile.

“Where did that come from?” Chilton grinned as he pulled Will in for a kiss.

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about lately, to be honest.” He returned the kiss, feeling proud of himself. “How did I do?”

“Pretty damn good for a first timer.” Chilton took Will’s hand and guided him to his couch, sitting him down and kneeling between his knees. He put his hand on the front of Will’s trousers, lightly stroking him until he was fully hard again. “Why don’t I give you some pointers?”

Will looked down at him and nodded wordlessly, taking in a sharp breath as Chilton freed him from his pants. He focused on everything Chilton was telling and showing him, diligently intent on actually learning something, but by the time he climaxed, he could barely remember his own name. 

“I’m officially fucked.” Chilton let out a sigh onto Will’s chest; the two of them lie in bed holding each other. “Abel Gideon is going to ruin my goddamn career.”

“Well.” Will stroked Chilton’s hair, grappling for the right words to say. “Did you do what he’s accusing you of?”

Chilton paused and Will felt a warm tear roll onto his chest. “I just – I didn’t know –“

“That he would kill.”

“He’s making it sound like I forced him to do it; like he has no responsibility at all in what happened.” Chilton choked back more tears and inhaled deeply. “Psychiatry isn’t the exact science everyone thinks it is. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“What do you think is going to happen?” Will squeezed Chilton into him, feeling more sorry for him than angry at his incompetence than he was when they first met.

“I think I’m going to lose my license, lose my job, and walk out of the courtroom with my tail between my legs.”

“Try to stay positive.” Will kissed the top of Chilton’s head and stroked his forearm with his fingertips.

“Let’s just ditch all of our responsibilities and escape to some island far away from psychotic murderers and the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Will chuckled. “Sure. Where do you want to go?”

“Someplace tropical. The Maldives. That’s far enough away from here that no one will find us, right?” Chilton kissed the warm skin where his head rested. “We could be beach bums.”

Chilton yawned, feeling tired and slightly bettered by the fantasy of living in the tropics with his lover. Will caught the yawn immediately.

“Sleep?”

Chilton’s eyes were already shut, on the very brink of slipping into unconsciousness. “Mm-hmm.”

Will shut off the lamp on his nightstand and fell to sleep almost instantly, a phenomenon that only happened when Chilton slept at his side.

Garret Jacob Hobbs had scrubbed clean his cabin, skinned pieces of the young woman he butchered and bled resting on his vast worktable. He took an electric clipper to the girl’s head, her hair gathering in a pile beneath it.

“This will be good for a pillow. It’s very soft. Here, touch it.” Hobbs took a handful of hair and offered it to Will.

“Very soft,” said Will as he stroked it. Hobbs smiled at him, proud at how receptive his new friend was.

Hobbs took the hair back and set it aside. He then grabbed his hunting knife and a leg, hanging it on a dull metal hook. “Pay attention now. You take the knife and cut just under the knee all the way to the bone. But you don’t want to cut into the Achilles tendon, okay?”

“Yup.” Will crossed his arms and furrowed his brow. Hobbs continued to butcher the woman’s leg, taking great pleasure in explaining his process.

“See, the bone marrow is actually very tasty, so we’ll save that for later. Remember, we have to use every part of her.” Hobbs put down his knife and took Will’s hand into his own. “Why do we do that?”

“Because otherwise it would be murder.” Will watched Hobbs’ face drain of color as blood began to spurt from bullet holes in his chest.

“YOU DIDN’T HONOR ME, WILL GRAHAM.” Hobbs voice was blaring and inhuman, the reverberation of it shaking the cabin. Will stumble backwards as Hobbs grabbed the knife and jabbed it forward, nearly making contact with his throat. “So it was MURDER.”

Will ducked Hobbs’ attempts to slice at him, reaching for his service weapon but it wasn’t there. Defenseless, he ran out of the cabin only to find himself in the Hobbs’ kitchen where Abigail sputtered and coughed as blood fell in waves from her slit throat. He looked to his left to see Garret Jacob Hobbs smiling at him, slumped in the corner Will left him after shooting six bullets into his torso.

“See?”

Will squeezed Abigail’s throat, trying to control the bleeding.

“See?” Hobbs whispered one last time as the life flickered out of his eyes. Will clutch Abigail’s throat tighter and tighter, but blood continued to gush out onto his hands, the puddle beneath her reaching farther and farther away from her until the entire kitchen floor was blanketed in glossy crimson. He watched as blood began to poor out of the cabinets, sink, and refrigerator in a great deluge. Drops of blood pelted against the window loudly, echoing until they sounded like gunshots. The cacophony was deafening and a searing hot headache crashed into Will, nearly ripping him in half. He was practically crushing Abigail’s neck in the hopes that if he stopped the bleeding, he could stop all of it. Abruptly, Abigail began to thrash against him, yelling at the top of her lungs. But it didn’t sound like her voice.

“Will! Stop!” She coughed out. He slightly let up his grip, still terrified that if he let her go, she would slip away from him. “WILL, YOU’RE HURTING ME.”

Will let go of her finally and looked down in horror as he saw not Abigail Hobbs beneath him but Frederick Chilton, who was choking and flailing in defense. Will quickly shot up off the bed, feeling the chill of cold sweat drenching his body.

“Frederick!” Will said in utter shock.

“What the fuck, Will?!” Chilton scrambled off the bed and stood on the opposite side of the room in terror. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“I – I – I don’t know! I don’t know what’s happening!” Will stepped closer to Chilton, who withdrew briskly, still fearing for his life.

“Something is wrong with you, Will.” Chilton began gathering his clothes off the floor. “I am incredibly frightened.”

“Wait. Don’t go. Please.” Will tried to reach for the other man, but he evaded him once again. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I need to leave. I don’t feel safe right now.” Chilton rushed to the door and grabbed his coat, pulling it on haphazardly and getting caught in the sleeves.

“Frederick, please. I didn’t know I was doing it. I was having a nightmare!” Will ambled towards him cautiously, not wanting to scare him even further.

“Okay, Will. That’s fine and all. I believe you, I do. I just – I just need to leave right now, okay?” Chilton opened the door, still looking at the sweaty, disheveled man before him. “I think you need to see a doctor. Not Hannibal Lecter. A medical doctor, a neurosurgeon or something because this is bad, Will. I honestly thought you were going to kill me.”

“I’m going to a specialist. The appointment is already set, so you don’t need to worry about that. Just promise me that –“ Tears began to form in Will’s eyes and he choked back a sob. “Promise me you’ll come back. Don’t leave me alone like this.”

Chilton shut the door and took Will in his arms. “I will. I just need to go home, okay? I’m not going to leave you.” He paused and shut his eyes for a brief moment. “You’re the most important person in my life, Will.”

Will rest his head on Chilton’s shoulder, rocking back and forth gently, finally calming down and feeling comfortable enough to be left alone, if that was what Chilton really wanted. “Seriously?”

“Yes, Will. I don’t have very many people in my life and you’re the only one that doesn’t make me feel lonely to be around. That’s very, very important to me.” Chilton pulled back and looked at the tear stained man in front of him. “I’m going to go now. Just for tonight, okay? I will call you tomorrow and we can talk about all of this when we’re both feeling better.”

“Okay.” Will nodded, showing Chilton the door. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Chilton brushed past him, stopping to give him a quick kiss to ease both of their minds. And just like that he was gone.

It was 4:00 AM when Will heard his phone ring, having barely gotten two hours sleep after Chilton had left. He grabbed it, his eyes stinging at the illuminated screen. It was Jack Crawford calling.

“Will Graham.” Will always answered his phone that way, even if he knew who it was. Well, unless it was Chilton.

“Will,” Crawford said gruffly, “We need you in Delaware. I’ve already sent a car for you, so be ready to go soon.”

“Jack. I’m –“

“You’re what?” Crawford didn’t want to hear no for an answer, especially because the scene waiting for them in Greenwood, Delaware was in dire need of his particular set of skills.

“I’m sick...and exhausted. I don’t know what much help I can be if I’m feeling like this.” Will sighed, taking a pregnant pause to calm him down. “How bad is it?”

“Pretty bad from what the local PD says. Nothing they’ve ever seen before. We really need you on this one, Will.”

“Fine.” Will heard the crackling of tires on gravel. It seemed Crawford had sent the car an hour ago, an ambush to keep Will from saying no. “Well, your guy is already here, so I might as well meet you in Delaware.”

“You’ll have some time to sleep in the car,” Crawford said pragmatically. “See you in Greenwood.”

“Yup.” Will flung his phone on the bed and rushed to pull on some clothes, fuming that Crawford had the audacity to send a car over before even asking him, leaving him in no position to decline the request. He let out a heavy, defeated sigh as he heard a knock, prompting the dogs to bark incessantly. Will filled their bowls indiscriminately before rushing out the door.

He looked back at his tiny house as he was escorted away, bleary eyed and flummoxed, pacifying his bad mood with the thought that he was the most important person in someone else’s life. He drifted off to sleep in the passenger seat for a couple hours thinking about Frederick Chilton and how the man had quickly become the most important person in his life as well.


	11. Orpheus and Eurydice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's consultation at the LeBeau crime scene goes awry as does Chilton's charge over his inmates, but they find solace in each other after their respective bad days and their relationship deepens; Will's brain scan yields results that are unsettling to both him and Chilton; Beverly Katz begins to question Will's stability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is particularly explicit in it's violence, so proceed with caution if you have any triggers. I hope you like it and comments are always appreciated

Will watched a woman’s feet pitter-patter back into the room from under her bed, waiting patiently for them to get closer. His hip and elbow ached from propping himself up, his legs folded close to his stomach and back pushing against the slats that supported Beth LeBeau’s mattress. Propelling himself like an expert swimmer off the wall behind him, he flattened himself as he lunged at her ankles, yanking the young woman under the mattress and attempting to press his body on top of her back but she clawed her way out, screaming in pain as her fingernails snapped back when she dug them into the hardwood floor. Will was dragged out with her while she struggled to get away, sliding on his stomach until they were both nearly out from under the bed altogether. The adrenaline pumping through his veins gave him a burst of strength that allowed him to flip Beth LeBeau onto her back, providing him the opportunity to straddle and sit on her stomach. She slapped and clawed at his face, but he dodged her while reaching for the knife he left under the bed.

Beth’s eyes widened in fear, still unable to accept that this was the end of her life. It is a uniquely human phenomenon for us to cling to the belief that perhaps death will spare us in the face of impossible odds. Sometimes we do, but it is rare; tales of vanquishing the rigid grip of death, of turning back from the light give all of us hope that maybe this time we’ll fight back hard enough to wrench ourselves out of the river Styx and run back to the mortal sphere. This wouldn’t be the case for Beth LeBeau. She gaped at Will with astonishment, finally accepting the same fate as Eurydice, watching someone she loved lock eyes with her as they stood at the threshold of the corporeal world.

The searing pain she felt from her cheeks being sawed through subsided as the epinephrine her body produced helped ease her into dying. It was the sensation of choking on coppery, viscous blood that terrified her most; she was drowning on dry land. The hot liquid crept up Will’s arms as it began to soak his sleeves and he dropped the knife, finally finished with carving the woman’s face down to the jaw. He grabbed her upper lip and pulled and pulled, stretching her frenum like a rubber band, attempting to separate the flesh of her visage from her skull. Slowly but surely, Will realized that he’d never seen this woman before, that what he was doing had no motive, that the intensity of the violence he was committing terrified him. The light flickered out of her eyes as he shot up in terror, reaching an epiphany that he hadn’t killed Beth LeBeau; that he was there to construct the design of her true murderer. Reluctantly, he walked to the door, knowing he’d have a lot of explaining to do to his shocked coworkers waiting for him on the other side. Jack Crawford wouldn’t be able to ignore that the fabric of Will’s reality was becoming undone and that perhaps he was the one that pulled too hard at the loose strings of his delicate psyche.

Will swung the door open, ready for the jolted looks that await him.

Chilton sprung up off the couch abruptly as he heard shouts and hurried footsteps outside his office. Moments later an alarm began to ring, the unmistakable bleating of a code blue emergency. His heart raced as he rushed out the door, following the echoes of orderlies’ shouting. Code blue was bad. This was the second code blue two months. Code blues didn’t reflect well on his hospital. But it wasn’t the code blue he was concerned about; he was concerned about who was coding, trying to ignore the anxiety pooling in his chest that was muttering to him who it was he walked towards. His pace quickened as the commotion brought him closer to Charles Lin’s cellblock. Just as he anticipated, he saw orderlies struggle to get Lin’s cell door open, unable to discern what was making the undertaking so difficult.

“Dr. Chilton, you don’t need to be here!” an orderly grunted at him. The man looked past him and yelled, “Get a gurney down here stat! What the fuck are you people doing?”

Chilton backed himself onto the wall, shuffling closer and closer to the cell. He tried to stay out of the way as two orderlies finally dislodged the door, revealing Lin’s body strung up by his own jumpsuit, which was tied to the highest most bar. The blood vessels of his bulging eyes had burst and his skin was nearly grey: unmistakable signs that he departed the mortal coil. Chilton knew the gurney was unnecessary, that it was just protocol, now merely a mode of transport to a morgue. Lin’s body was still in rigor mortis, explaining why it was so difficult for the orderlies to get the door open. He couldn’t have been dead for more than a few hours considering routine check-ins on patients occurred at least three times a night. Not routinely enough it seemed.

“He’s dead.” The head orderly pursed his lips and turned to Chilton. “He must have done it after last check. Unless one of the fuckups down here wasn’t doing their goddamn job.”

“There will be an inquiry, obviously.” Chilton exhaled sharply, watching as Lin’s stiff body was lifted with great effort onto the gurney. “This is unacceptable.”

“It certainly is.” Abel Gideon’s voice quietly floated out of the adjacent cell.

“Shut the fuck up Gideon!” the orderly shouted at him.

“That’s enough, Simon.” Chilton quickly interjected. “Now is not the time and you can’t take your anger out on other patients. Be a fucking professional.”

As Lin was wheeled away, a sinking dread washed over Chilton. This couldn’t have come at a worse time, what with the malpractice suit being brought against him and the hospital. Gideon’s defense would try to admit this incident and the last suicide attempt in his hospital as further evidence that Chilton was a negligent and unfit administrator. His career was quickly swirling around the basin of a calcified sink.

Quiet descended on the block and Chilton was left alone staring at the empty cell in front of him, an awareness dawning on him that Charles Lin was gone, the sole man he once thought he could truly help; the man he briefly identified with and whose company he enjoyed up until their last meeting. _You’ll see what a mistake this is when you’re getting fired for causing another one of your patients to do something violent_ , Lin’s threat echoed in his mind, followed by the ghastly laugh catapulted into the vast space he and Chilton had shared for the final time. Of all the moments Chilton felt like he had failed, be it in med school or in rehabilitating a patient, this one stung the most.

“Very tragic, Frederick.” Gideon stood close to the bars of his cell, tapping his fingers on pexiglass. “This isn’t going to look good in court.”

“Of course you have to make this about you, Abel.”

“Au contraire, I’m making this about you, Dr. Chilton.”

“This really isn’t the time,” Chilton growled, “and if you think you can hold this against me, you’re wrong. It’ll be hard to prove this is my fault.”

“Will it? Charles was very sad last night. He told me all about how you broke up with him. He was absolutely heartbroken.”

“When you get a degree in psychiatry, I’ll take your opinion into account, but until then this conversation is over.” Chilton spun on his heel and stomped away before his anger got the best of him.

“My lawyer will get in contact with you about a court date.”

Abel’s words softly reverberated down the hall as Chilton ascended the stairs, taking him far away from Gideon’s threats. The memory of Lin lamenting the impossibility of escaping from the hellish pits of The Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally insane with his lonesome psychiatrist echoed through the chambers of Chilton’s mind. _Fools rush in where angels fear to tread._

Jack Crawford stared at Will Graham as he slammed the passenger door of the FBI car that had brought him there only an hour before. Once again, Will had assured him that he was stable enough to be in the field; that he’d just gotten lost in the reconstruction of the scene. He was insistent in his assurances when it came to his state of mind but Crawford couldn’t shake the sight of him swinging the door open, covered in blood and sweat. He recalled the most recent conversation he had with Hannibal Lecter and how the psychiatrist voiced concern about Will’s mental state. Who’s opinion did he value more? Will, the only man who could truly quantify his own sanity or Hannibal Lecter, the man he appointed to analyze Will, to protect him? Crawford had grown dependent on Will’s abilities; cases were getting solved faster, building up his reputation as a leader and Crawford couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in running one of the most successful units at the bureau.

_If anything were to happen as a result of his work with you, I will have a difficult time ignoring your complicity_. Hannibal had told Crawford he was taking a great risk in pushing Will so far. The rumors that were circulating amongst his colleagues were hard to ignore. People were talking about how hard Will was being nudged, how close to the edge his superior was positioning him and Crawford couldn’t ignore the strained silences between him and Zeller, Price, and Katz after Will left them to continue digging around for the evidence concealed in cold bodies lying on colder autopsy tables. Crawford was not a man that had room for doubt in his life though; he wasn’t used to being wrong or not getting his way. Even in his wife’s battle with cancer, he strove to keep her alive, to find an answer so he wouldn’t be left alone, left with the doubts that perhaps he had squandered their marriage away for the sake of his career. Just then, Beverly Katz stepped beside him, letting out a quiet sigh.

“You think we should talk about this?” she said, watching Will’s ride disappear down the driveway.

“It sounds like you’ve got something to say regardless of what my answer is.” Crawford avoided Beverly’s gaze, trying to remain stoic.

“I’m worried, Jack. Aren’t you?”

Crawford sighed and adjusted is hat. “Yes.”

“Do you think you should keep putting him out there like this?” Beverly looked down at her feet, kicking a pebble so as not to face him, a man who was often quick to anger.

“Are you questioning my judgment, Beverly?”

“No.” She paused. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what to think.”

“Will told me he can still do the job. He just got a little lost up there.”

“He contaminated the crime scene, Jack.” Beverly turned to Crawford and cocked her head. “My job is about the evidence –“

“I know what your job is about.”

Beverly shoved her hands in her coat pockets, the heat of her breath against cold air billowing out her mouth like smog from an industrial plant’s chimney. “I don’t want to speak out of turn. I just thought you should know there’s a lot of gossip going around the bureau.”

“I’m aware of that.” Crawford turned to Beverly and nodded. “I appreciate the candor Bev, but I’ve got things out under control. I’ll see you back at the lab.”

Beverly gazed at Crawford as he treaded back to his car. He seemed authoritative and unshakable even when he had his back to her. She usually wasn’t one to second-guess, but a sense of uneasiness came over her as she walked back into the house. Who is she supposed to believe: Will Graham and Jack Crawford or her gut instinct? Just interpret the evidence, she thought as she trudged up the stairs. That’s all you’ve got.

_There is no way he can use this as evidence_ , Chilton insisted to himself as he listened to the previous night’s recording, the final hours of Charles Lin’s life. _No fucking way_. There had been little conversation to observe until around 5:00 AM, when Lin’s voice gently carried itself into Chilton’s ears. He had to crank up the volume to it’s maximum as the conversation was in low murmurs. 

_ Are you awake, Abel? _

_ Early to bed, early to rise, Gideon said with a tone of disinterest. What’s bothering you so early in the morning? _

_ I’m going to die alone in prison. _

_ We all die alone, Charles. It’s a cruel trick life plays on us. _

_ And that doesn’t bother you? _

_ I try not to think about it. I’ve grown more and more nihilistic as I age. _

_ So you think there’s no point to life. _

_ Like I said, I try not to think about it. _

There was a long silence and then a bit of shuffling. Chilton’s heart raced as he wondered if the noise came from Lin stringing himself up.

_ Abel, would you miss me if I were gone? _

_ Not particularly. _

_ My siblings refuse to visit me. They want nothing to do with me. _

_ Well, can you really blame them? _

_ I think my mother would have visited me. _

_ But she’s dead. _

_ I didn’t even get to go to her funeral. _

_ State prisons are stingy when it comes to furlough, aren’t they? _

_ They probably thought I didn’t deserve it. _

_ What do you deserve? _

_ I think I deserve to die. _

_ Do you now? _

_ There are a lot of people that would like to see me dead. _

_ That’s not much of a reason to do it. A lot of people would like to see me dead, but here I am, enjoying the many comforts of a padded cell. _

More silence.

_ The most precious thing in life is love. _

_ That’s a matter of opinion. _

_ I’ll never have it again. _

_ Buck up, dear Charles; there are always lonely hearts that write to inmates. I’ve gotten a few letters myself actually. Couldn’t be bothered with them though. _

_ It’s not the same. _

_ You’re feeling a little down because Dr. Chilton tossed you to another doctor like a hot potato. _

_ That certainly didn’t help. _

_ Help what? _

_ I’ve been feeling very depressed lately. _

_ Oh, really? You’ve been hiding it quite well. In fact, you seemed downright cheerful only a few days ago. _

_ I’m good at hiding how I truly feel. _

Lin’s voice began to get shaky

_ How long have you been up, Abel? _

_ About an hour. Why? _

_ When was the last check? _

_ Charles…what are you thinking of doing? _

_ When was the last check? _

_ I’d say a half hour ago. A few minutes before you woke up. Why? _

_ What do you think happens after we die? _

_ That’s the eternal question, isn’t it? Are you religious? _

_ No. _

_ Are you about to be? _

_ I don't know. _

_ A lot of people pray to God when they think they’re about to die, even if they gave up on him a long time ago. Are you praying to him now? _

_ I’m scared. _

_ Do you want me to help you? _

_ How would you do that? _

_ I could ease you into it. Tell you everything is going to be okay. Help you let go as it were. _

_ I don’t know if I can do it. _

_ Do you want to? _

_ I don’t see the point in living anymore. _

_ And you’re in pain. _

_ Yes. _

_ And you want the pain to go away. _

_ Yes. _

_ Are you sure? _

_ Yes. _

_ I can’t make any decisions for you, Charles. I can only clear the path if that’s what you want. _

_ You promise? _

_ Mmhmm _

_ You won’t call for the orderlies? _

_ It’s not my place to interfere. _

_ You’re a good friend, Abel. _

_ Thank you, Charles. You’re a good boy, but I don’t think you were made for this world. _

Chilton heard a faint tussling, which he assumed was Lin removing his jumpsuit. He remembered the way one sleeve was tied to the highest rung and how a single pant leg was fashioned into a crude noose.

_ Are you ready? _

Then there was the sound of choking. Chilton imagined how Lin let his legs slack so that the weight of his body allowed the noose to tighten around his neck. Lin must have had great control, as he could have easily brought his legs back under him to relieve the choking.

_ Shh, shh. It will be uncomfortable at first. You’re going to want to stop it, to stay here. Your body is going to fight against you to keep you breathing, but you have to be strong, Charles. Soon your vision will start to blur around the edges, like a vignette. Just keep waiting until you begin to feel serene. I promise you’ll get there. You’re lungs won’t burn anymore and you’ll feel like you’re floating. _

As Lin was thrashing and gurgling, Chilton couldn’t help but wonder how the orderlies couldn’t have heard the commotion. Yes Gideon and Lin’s cells were the last two down the hall, but surely Lin was loud enough to have warranted curiosity from hospital employees. The heat of anger began to flush his cheeks and soon the struggle began to dissipate.

_ That’s right, Charles. You’re going to become lightheaded and finally lose consciousness. It’s going to take about seven minutes for you to finally leave, but you won’t feel it. You’re almost there. Just hold still and let go. Shh, shh. _

Chilton didn’t bother to finish the rest of the recording, despite the fact that it couldn’t have lasted much longer. He slammed his laptop shut and hurried out his office, darting down the many halls to Gideon’s cellblock. He rushed past the orderly’s office and pulled out his own key to the block, jamming it into the lock haphazardly.

“Dr. Chilton, what are you –“ The head orderly stared up from his desk in confusion.

“I’ll deal with you later!” Chilton snarled as he swung the door open. The usual uproar ensued as he made his way to Gideon’s cell, but it dissipated quickly as the other inmates saw anger in him that they’d never witnessed before. They certainly weren’t afraid, just curious as to what was about to unfold. “Abel Gideon!”

Gideon was already stood in his cell waiting for him. “Am I in trouble, Frederick?”

“You’re goddamn right you’re in trouble!” Chilton halted only a couple feet from the cell, close enough for Gideon to reach out and grab his throat, but he felt no threat. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m assuming you heard my little conversation with Charles this morning.”

“You goaded him on, Abel. That’s going to reflect poorly on you.” Chilton crossed his arms, inhaling sharply to temper is anger.

“Hmm, is it now? All I did was calm his nerves. He would have tried to do it anyway.” Gideon squinted and shook his head. “It’s a damn shame, isn’t it, that no one was here to save him.”

“You could have saved him!”

“Not my job, Frederick. Isn’t it because of these types of incidents that you have a staff watching over us at all hours?”

“I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work.”

“And what exactly am I doing?” Gideon rested his forehead against the bar in front of him and scratched at it with his index finger.

“You’re going to try to bring Charles’ suicide up in court to prove what a terrible administrator I am.”

“Leave it to Dr. Frederick Chilton to make such a tragedy about himself,” remarked Gideon sarcastically. “Hadn’t crossed my mind, but it’s a good idea now that you mention it.”

“I don’t buy your bullshit for a second and neither will a judge,” Chilton spat. “This little ruse of yours is going to blow up right in your face.”

“Whether or not my lawyer tries to admit this whole mess as evidence is ancillary. I was just helping the poor fellow out. If it happens to benefit my suit against you, then so be it.”

“Good luck getting it into evidence.”

Chilton turned on his feet and trekked back down the hall, a panic overcoming him at the thought of a judge allowing Lin’s suicide into evidence as his negligence. Again, he walked right past the orderly’s office without acknowledging the two men occupying it.

“Dr. Chilt –“

“I said I’ll deal with you later!” he roared, leaving the orderlies with mouths agape, staring at each other in confusion.

“I need you to keep your head still, Will.”

The sound of Dr. Donald Sutcliffe’s voice patched into the MRI machine Will lie in like a radio DJ’s. He tried to look straight ahead as the rhythmic pounding of the machine blared in his ears but he kept getting distracted by the crime scene he thought he perpetrated earlier that morning; he closed his eyes trying to shut out the visions of Beth LeBeau’s corpse sharing the claustrophobic space with him. Today would be the day he’d find out if his suspicions were well founded, if he really was sick and not just losing his mind. He felt grateful and comforted knowing that Hannibal was able to make an appointment for him with the best neurosurgeon in the Bay area. In the wake of Jack Crawford’s questioning of his ability to do the job, Will began to place more and more trust and confidence in Hannibal, feeling as if he were one of two people that truly cared about his well being. Well, Bev cared. And Alana. Maybe not enough, though. Alana kept distancing herself, probably for her own good. The foot she had firmly planted on the side of wanting more than a friendship with him no longer had any weight on it at all and was nearly on the other side altogether. And Beverly, she was his closest coworker, the woman he’d shoot the shit with when they occupied the same space. She was caring and funny and warm, but it’s not like she’d asked Will to grab a beer lately. Thousands of his neurons fired, transmitting all the thoughts and worries that plagued him, hopefully setting ablaze the scan Dr. Sutcliffe and Hannibal were staring at in the other room.

Will was convinced there was something physically wrong with him, that there was some mystery illness ravaging his body and that he’d be proven right. In fact, he knew he was right. He would soon be taken out of the MRI machine, Dr. Sutcliffe would bring him into his office and tell him, yes he was correct and all he had to do was take antibiotics or steroids and all of it would go away. He could go back to work without burden, without critical eyes constantly scanning and scrutinizing him. Perhaps even his relationship with Hannibal could change; he wouldn’t need therapy anymore and they could have a friendship unencumbered by the confines of a doctor-patient dynamic. All he needed was a diagnosis from Dr. Sutcliffe.

“We didn’t find anything abnormal.” Dr. Sutcliffe looked down at the printed results of Will’s scans and tests, putting his glasses on to better see the documents that showed the contrary to what he was telling Will. Sutcliffe felt as small twinge of guilt lying to the dispirited man that stood in front of him, but the ends justified the means: Hannibal Lecter convinced him that this was a rare opportunity to study the effects of encephalitis in real time. Will would be all right eventually.

“No vascular malformations, no tumors, no swelling or bleeding, no evidence of stroke. Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with you neurologically.”

“So what I’m experiencing is psychological.” Will looked at a computer screen that displayed the flesh of his brain from all angles. He gulped as Sutcliffe’s voice slowly faded behind the raging disappointment he felt as the doctor continued supplementing him with all the reasons why his brain was unremarkable in the neurological sense. _Only rule out medical illnesses. Tumor. Symptoms. Can’t diagnose mental disorders. More tests. Blood samples. Inconclusive._

The news was devastating.

The Lin suicide was going to be an administrative nightmare and instead of dealing with the immediate repercussions, Chilton snuck out of the hospital early before the deluge came; he needed to be with Will, to hang on to him when the storm finally hit. On his drive to Wolf Trap, he played out all the different scenarios in his head of what would happen in court, how Gideon’s smarmy lawyer would mock him on the stand, how he and Gideon would whisper back and forth to each other throughout the entire proceeding, the lawyer scribbling down notes for show and Gideon nodding in agreement. A grand farce it would be.

He imagined the humiliation he’d feel when his superior told him he was fired, that the hospital had no other choice than to boot him out for his utter incompetence. He heard the judge rule that his license to practice medicine would be revoked and while he still held the title of “doctor”, it would be purely for appearance’s sake. He’d be the laughing stock of the community. He’d be shut out and gossiped about. God, maybe the whole proceeding would be on the seven o’clock news. _Convicted murderer Abel Gideon won a malpractice suit against Dr. Frederick Chilton, administrator of The Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally Insane today after Judge Susan Reichart ruled there to be enough evidence of gross negligence on both the hospital and Dr. Chilton’s part to warrant a guilty verdict. Gideon’s lawyer, Robert Richards, was quoted saying after the win that every American, whether a criminal or not, deserved justice against a corrupt system. Dr. Chilton could not be reached for comment, but the hospital has stated he will be removed from his position immediately._

Chilton gritted his teeth and gripped the steering wheel so hard his hands began to cramp. He relaxed as he got closer to Wolf Trap, knowing that Will had the afternoon off for his appointment with Dr. Sutcliffe. His worries were assuaged when Will told him about getting a brain scan, as he too was certain that the problem was physical. Sure, he wasn’t cut out to be a surgeon, but Chilton did go to medical school and was convinced Will’s problems couldn’t be purely psychological. He was biased though; he wanted it to be a neurological issue as much as, if not more than Will did, despite having a difficult time ignoring the way it felt when he woke up with Will’s hands wrapped around his neck trying to choke the life out of him. What was even more terrifying was how calm Will was, how natural the act seemed to him, like he’d done it before. Chilton told himself that it could have just as easily been a symptom of physical illness as it was a mental one.

Relief coursed through him as he parked in Will’s driveway and got out of his car, hearing muffled barking from inside when he walked to the door. He knocked firmly, but no one came so Chilton lifted the doormat to grab an extra key, chuckling at how easy it was to find; that’s the first place a burglar would check before trying to break in the old fashioned way. Will’s pack of dogs greeted him as he gently opened the door.

“Hey guys,” Chilton said as he pushed his way in, smiling at the happy pups vying for his attention. “Where’s your master?”

His question was quickly answered when he heard the shower running from farther back in the house. A shower sounded really good to him in that moment. Being in the shower with Will sounded even better. He took off his shoes and coat, tossing it on the couch as he made his way to the bathroom. As he drew closer, he peeled off his blazer and undid his tie, all the stress of the day melting away.

Will was startled when he heard a knock on the door; his chin was tilted to his chest as he let the water run over his head. He saw the door creak open when he pulled the curtain back slightly only to see Chilton peeking in.

“Hi.” Chilton smiled, still standing on the other side of the threshold. “I let myself in.”

“I can see that,” Will snicker. “Can I help you with something?”

“May I come in please?” Chilton smiled impishly.

Will chuckled at Chilton’s well-mannered request, as if he weren’t going to force his way in regardless. “Yeah, come on in.”

Chilton entered cheerfully, stripping down as fast as he could. He drew the curtain back and stepped in behind Will, letting out a massive sigh as hot water hit his chest. He thought about how much better it would be if they were in his shower, as it’s roomier and has a bigger shower head, thus producing a wider stream. He and Will wouldn’t have to compete for water, but a cramped shower with Will was better than a spacious one without him.

“Scooch up a little,” Chilton dictated as he pushed himself against Will’s back.

“Excuse me, but you’re the one who barged in on my shower,” Will teased.

“Okay, please scooch up a little.”

Will moved forward, but the water beat on his face, prompting him to turn around so they could easier share.

“Better?” Will leaned forward and gave Chilton a quick kiss.

“Much.” Chilton grabbed the soap and began lathering himself up. “I had the worst fucking day.”

“Yeah?” Will took the soap from him and rubbed it under his arms. “What happened?”

“A patient managed to kill himself, which is absolutely terrible timing.”

“Is there really ever good timing for a suicide?”

Chilton rolled his eyes. “Here I am, trying to share my day with my boyfriend –“ Chilton paused. He hadn’t meant to use the word “boyfriend”; it slipped out in the moment. His eyes widened in nervous embarrassment.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Will watched Chilton’s face as he began to panic.

“I, um. That just slipped out. I didn’t mean –“

“Frederick Chilton, are you asking me to go steady with you?” Will grinned and put his arms on Chilton’s shoulders, wrapping his hands around his neck.

“Don’t make fun of me,” said Chilton, still embarrassed.

“Okay.” Will kissed him sweetly. “Do you want to be my boyfriend, Frederick?”

Chilton looked back at him dubiously almost, as if Will was going to say _Nah, I’m just fucking with you_ any second. But the longer he looked at him and his earnest expression, the more convinced he was that Will was being sincere. “Yes. I would like very much to be your boyfriend.”

“Great. Pass me the shampoo.”

Chilton stood still as Will shampooed his hair, feeling a high he’d never experienced before. _This is my boyfriend, Will. I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Will. Have you met my boyfriend, Will? Who, him? Oh, that’s just my boyfriend, Will._

“Here,” said Will as he passed the shampoo back to Chilton, tilting his head back to rinse his hair. Will was chattering on about something or other, but Chilton barely registered it because he was still caught up in the dizzying adoration he felt for the man in front of him.

“Switch.” Chilton motioned to his sudsy head that needed rinsing and the two of them squeezed against each other as they reversed places. He let the water run completely over him with eyes closed as he pushed his hair back and ran his fingers through it. Will gazed at him, taking in the whole sight of his naked body: the tuft of hair on his chest, the cute little paunch of his stomach, his muscular thighs. He turned to put the shampoo back in its corner caddy when he felt Chilton wrap his arms around him and rest his head on Will’s smooth back. Chilton held him close and kissed his shoulder, grazing his fingertips up and down Will’s chest; it sent shivers up his spine.

“I’m so glad I came over,” Chilton muttered as he caressed the other man’s neck and shoulders with gentle kisses. Will sighed and leaned his head back, resting it in the crook of Chilton’s neck while he continued leaving trails of kisses on him. 

“Me too.” Will felt hands slide across his belly and around his hips, then moving down to his thighs. His cock slowly started to become hard as he anticipated it being touched, but the other man purposely grazed over every other part around it. Chilton too began to grow erect and Will could feel it push against his ass. He craned his head to meet the mouth of the man behind him, his tongue brushing against his parted lips while their breathing began to quicken. Chilton held him tightly as the kiss grew deeper, his cock getting harder against Will’s flushed skin. The exquisite sensation of hot water teeming over their bodies while they pressed against each other began to drive Will mad and he ached for Chilton to touch his hardness. Will whimpered at feeling the other man lightly thrust his cock against him as they continued kissing, still restraining himself from stroking his own cock, holding out hope that Chilton would touch him soon, despite being painfully hard. Will broke free from Chilton’s mouth and leaned his head back.

“Please,” he murmured, his eyelids heavy and arms limp at his side. A loud moan escaped him when Chilton finally wrapped a hand around his cock, moving it slowly back and forth with an agonizingly soft grip. He pushed his hips forward trying to thrust against Chilton’s hand, but the other man pulled him back with the free arm that was wrapped around his waist so Chilton could keep rubbing up against the crest of his ass. As the grip on his cock became stronger, Will lift is arms above his head to hold the back of Chilton’s neck, grazing his fingertips through the man’s hair to lightly scratch his scalp. Chilton pushed his forehead against the apex of Will’s back as he kept grinding up against him slowly, trying to pace himself so he could focus on the man in front of him. His free hand migrated from Will’s waist to massage his balls as he bolstered his grip, still providing long, slow strokes. Will’s hips bucked and he pleaded for Chilton to go faster.

Chilton pushed himself harder while also quickening the pace of the hand around Will’s slick cock. Will cried out as he got closer and closer to coming, unable to thrust into the hand rapidly stroking him as he once again felt a strong arm pinning him back. He tugged Chilton’s hair hard, eliciting a moan from the man that brought Will to the edge, nearly pushing him over into orgasm. He yanked Chilton’s head down to his shoulder, as his whining grew louder. Without warning, Chilton bit down on the flesh he’d been smashed against, sending waves of pleasure through Will’s body and finally making him cum. His whole body shook, Chilton still gripping him tight; as he began to relax, he felt the other man’s cock rub against him faster and harder. Quickly, he spun around and roughly pulled Chilton’s mouth to his, enveloping him with his arms around his neck. Chilton grabbed Will’s sides to him and thrust against his stomach as their tongues frantically wrestled each other’s. Chilton panted and groaned and Will pushed against him, the pressure of their abdomens squeezing around Chilton’s cock causing his hips buck as his orgasm began to mount. He hugged the other man tightly and thrust roughly as Will’s hands crept down around Chilton’s hips, sliding them onto his ass and squeezing it as Chilton rubbed against him a few more times until his cum spurt between their stomachs.

Chilton rest his head on Will’s shoulder, still hugging him as his breathing slowed down. Will sighed and held onto him, smiling while he petted Chilton’s head. After a few moments, Chilton stepped back and looked at Will lovingly, leaning forward for one more kiss.

“I think we should always shower together,” he said with a satisfied grin.

“Well, we’d have to either wake up early or be late for work constantly and I am not a morning person.” Will chuckled as they washed themselves off. “But I definitely think this should become a regular thing.”

Their timing couldn’t have been better as the water quickly went from hot to warm to cool. Will’s house didn’t have a first-rate water heater like Chilton’s did, so they shut the water off quickly, hopped out, and dried off with Will’s worn old towels.

“Let me borrow something to wear,” Chilton insisted as they exited the bathroom, towels wrapped around their hips. “I want to be comfy.”

“Like sweatpants?” Will scoffed at the idea of prim and proper Frederick Chilton wearing his ratty, stained sweats.

“Sure. And a shirt?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Will made his way over to the dresser near his bed and began rifling around. “You might as well just leave some pajamas here if you plan on breaking in more.”

Chilton blushed and his heart skipped a beat. The thought of leaving his things at Will’s house felt monumental. “Ha, ha.” 

Will knew Chilton was deflecting and chuckled, tossing him some clothes. Will pulled out blue shorts and a white cotton undershirt, dropping his towel and pulling them both on quickly. Chilton watched him, as he got dressed as well, smirking when he recognized Will’s shorts immediately. _Those damn tiny shorts_.

It was nearly 9:30 PM when the two of them finally retreated to bed. They spent the rest of the evening trying to throw together an edible dinner out of the smorgasbord of food Will had about his kitchen and flipping through the fifteen channels Will got on his television. It didn’t really matter what they were watching anyway (some action film that had to have all the swears and sex edited out so it could be aired on network television), since they spent most of their time on the couch spooning and poking fun at each other. Chilton was in too good of a mood to talk about the suicide and Will was purposely avoiding the results of the brain scan, but the later it got, the more they both thought of their respective problems.

“I need to go to bed early after the day I’ve had.” Chilton got up first, being the little spoon and all, stretching and yawning.

“Oh, that’s right,” Will respond as he rose. “Someone committed suicide?”

Chilton made his way over to the bed, Will following right behind him. “Yes. It was awful. It’s going to reflect horribly on me if Gideon’s lawyer tries to get the incident admitted as evidence.”

“I doubt a judge will allow that.” Will shrugged and got into bed. “You have no control over what a patient does when you’re not around.”

“Well if the orderlies were doing their fucking jobs, they could have stopped him. But no, they were probably too busy playing paper football and eating Cheetos to pay attention. I should fire the lot of them.” Chilton began scowling as he curled up next to Will. “Except Barney. Barney can stay. He’s the only one who actually knows what he’s doing. And he’s not an asshole.”

Will sighed and pulled Chilton close. “I’m sorry that happened. I will say that I think it reflects more poorly on the staff than it does you.”

“The staff that I’m in charge of.”

“How likely do you think it is that it will actually make it to court though?”

“It’s hard to say. Gideon dug his own grave during this whole debacle, so it might be in his own interest to keep it out of the suit.”

“Oh, yeah?” Will ran his fingers through Chilton’s hair, a habit he continued ever since that grey morning he woke up with the other man holding onto him, just as he was doing then.

“Well, I listened to the recorded conversations leading up to the incident and it turns out Gideon knew Charles Lin was going to kill himself and did nothing to stop him. He even went so far as to talk him through it. He just sat there, telling Charles he’d be all right, shushing him as he thrashed around. It was horrifying.”

“Well in that case, I think it would be unwise of his lawyer to bring that information anywhere close to a courtroom. It makes Gideon look worse than the hospital. You’ll be fine.”

Will kissed the top of Chilton’s head and held him tighter. Chilton waited for him to bring up the brain scan, thinking perhaps that no news was good news; that the reason he wasn’t talking about it was because he hadn’t gotten the results yet. When they lie on the couch earlier, Chilton debated back and forth with himself about what their cheerful afternoon meant in terms of Will’s health. On the one hand, Will could have been feeling a sense of relief that he had the scan done and it was just a matter of time before he’d be proven right in that he had a physical malady. On the other, the sudden shift in his mood could mean there really was something mentally wrong with him, that his happiness could be some sort of mania that lulled both of them into a false sense of security. Or perhaps they were both just so happy to be together, shut away from the outside world for a few hours that it didn’t even matter. Chilton cleared his throat.

“So, how did your brain scan go?” He feigned an easy tone, like he wasn’t too concerned how it went because he was so sure it went swimmingly.

“Well,” sighed Will, “Not great.”

“Hmm.”

“The scan was clean but we’re going to run some more tests. Dr. Sutcliffe isn’t convinced that there’s nothing wrong with me neurologically.” Will tried to sound as casual as possible without giving away that he was lying through his teeth.

“He’s an excellent doctor. I’m sure he’ll find something.” Chilton’s heart began to sink as he accepted the reality that Will’s problems were most certainly psychological.

“He said that there’s still so much we don’t know about the brain, that it’s a greater mystery than we’re made to believe.”

“Well, as a man who was too inept at surgery to make a career out of it, I can verify that to be true. The brain is very mysterious.” Chilton was placating himself more than he was Will. He could feel Will’s hands around him again, trying to choke him to death, seeing the glassy, cold stare of his eyes. He wanted to be supportive, to stand firmly on the side of his boyfriend, but as a psychiatrist, even a shoddy one at that, he couldn’t ignore the facts. _When presented with two competing hypotheses, the one with the fewest assumptions was most likely to be correct._

Beverly Katz was brought out of a deep sleep by the sound of her cell phone ringing. She fumbled her hand over the nightstand next to her, grabbing at the blaring phone before she missed the call entirely.

“The fuck?” she said to herself, bleary eyed as she read the blindingly bright screen. The time read 1:20 AM and the caller read Will Graham. “Hello?”

“Beverly. It’s Will.” He sounded shaken and panicky. “What are you doing right now?”

“I was sleeping,” she huffed, annoyed at having been so abruptly woken up. “What are you doing right now?”

“Can you come to Greenwood? To the LeBeau house?”

“What? Right now? Jesus, Will. That’s over an hour away from me.” Beverly’s annoyance shifted to concern. Why the hell was he in Greenwood and why was he calling her?

“Please, Beverly. I really need you here.”

“Okay, okay. What the hell is going on though?” She got out of bed, cradling the phone to her ear as she began pulling on a pair of pants that were strewn across the floor. Despite being meticulous and organized at work, she could never quite keep her room in order.

“I just – Someone was in this house. With me. I can’t explain it right now. Just get here as fast as you can.”

“Christ, a please would be nice.” Beverly didn’t mean to be so cantankerous towards him, as she could tell he was freaked out by only god knows what. “Forget it. I’ll be there ASAP.”

“Thank you. Really.”

As she turned the ignition to her car and pulled out of her driveway, Beverly couldn’t help but wonder about the sanity of her coworker. There was a lot of speculation at the bureau that he was pushing himself over the edge, the edge Jack Crawford drove him towards in the first place. She contemplated the conversation with Crawford she just had that morning in which he evaded her questions and brushed off her concerns. Will was her friend; she wanted to believe that he was okay and had a good reason as to why he was dragging her out to Delaware in the middle of the night, but the evidence was lacking. As she got onto I-97, she was hoping the evidence would be waiting for her in the bloodstained room Will had left in shambles for her less than 24 hours before.

Chilton cursed himself when he woke up for having his sleep interrupted by a full bladder begging to be relieved. He made the mistake of drinking something or other in the late evening far too many times, making it impossible to sleep the whole night through without needing to go the bathroom. He rubbed his eyes, trying to gauge the room so he wouldn’t trip over the sleeping dogs. He looked back down at the bed as he got up and realized that Will was gone.

“Will?” he whispered.

No reply.

He called out louder, “Will? Where are you?”

He scanned the room and switched on the light, seeing no trace of the man he fell asleep next to and began to panic. The dogs were quickly awoken and they stared at Chilton inquisitively while he rushed to his coat to pull out his cell phone, quickly scrolling to Will’s number. He paced the room as he waited for Will to pick up, but the call eventually went to voicemail. Frustrated, he called a second time immediately after only to get voicemail once again. He tried a third time, that time the call going straight to voicemail after one ring, meaning Will saw his call and decided to ignore it. At least Chilton knew he was all right. But why hadn’t he left a note? Why did he leave in the middle of the night? Why wasn’t he answering his fucking phone?

In the wake of their conversation in which Will revealed the results of his scan, Chilton began to worry that Will was indeed losing his mind. He was erratic, sleepwalking, becoming violent, going from irate to elated in a matter of days, often completely unaware of what he was doing, and frankly beginning to terrify Chilton. It was too good to be true, wasn’t it? _That was my boyfriend, Will. Did you ever meet my boyfriend, Will? Yeah, I used to have this boyfriend, Will. Oh, I think you meant my ex-boyfriend, Will._

_I called you because I’m not entirely sure what I saw was real._ Will’s words were like whispers rebounding off the walls of Beverly’s mind as she drove back to Baltimore. She was only with Will at the LeBeau house for less than 45 minutes, trying to stay composed as he recounted how he saw a jaundiced, rotting woman bolt from under Beth’s bed just to have a layer of skin slip off her arm like a glove when Will grabbed her wrist. A lot of what Will said about the incident made sense: The reason Beth’s killer didn’t bleed was because her epidermal tissue was dead, maybe from a staphylococcal infection or leprosy, that the woman was scared because she couldn’t see faces, but Beverly couldn’t help but question it considering Will lost the evidence. Or so he said. She always trusted Will’s judgment; she’d seen him solve criminal puzzles with pieces she didn’t even know existed too many times to count. Sometimes her evidence, her holy scripture, couldn’t prove a thing without him, but she couldn’t ignore the other evidence, the evidence that Will was unstable. _This killer can’t accept her reality. I can occasionally identify with that._

Street lamps of the interstate stung her eyes as she tried to push those thoughts out of her mind, but the one thing that stayed with her the most was how imposing Will became when she questioned his motive for returning to the crime scene. His voice became lower and more measured when he said he knew that he didn’t kill Beth LeBeau. Well, of course he didn’t. That would make no sense empirically speaking and Beverly was aware of that, but she still couldn’t shake the way he made her feel. For a brief moment she was afraid of him as he stepped close to her, almost offended that she intimated he came back to the scene to convince himself he hadn’t murdered the poor girl. Of course, his voice took on its usual timbre when he said he just wanted to know who did kill Beth LeBeau.

Beverly put the radio on and cranked the volume to keep her alert as she made her way back home. She knew driving fatigued was unsafe, but loud music usually kept her alert. The station was set to the same classic rock wavelength as it always was. Jim Morrison growled, _are you a lucky little lady in the city of light or just another lost angel? City of night, city of night_. Beverly hummed along and forced her eyes wide open. _L.A. L.A. Woman woman, L.A. woman c’mon_.

Will knew there would be a fight waiting for him when he saw the lights on in his house as he drove closer, especially because he purposely ignored Chilton’s calls while he was at the LeBeau house. The hopes that he could slip in and out undetected while Chilton slept were dashed to pieces long before he made it home. The crunching of gravel beneath his tires seemed deafening and as hard as he tried to shut the car door quietly, it still sounded like he banged on a timpani drum in the middle of a concert hall. He took a deep breath before entering.

“Where the ever living fuck were you?” Chilton barked from the kitchen before Will was even fully through the door. “Do you know how worried I was? And why didn’t you answer your phone? What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“I’m sorry. I just – I really can’t explain right now.” Will took off his coat and shoes, avoiding Chilton’s glare.

“Excuse me? You can’t explain right now? So I’m just supposed to go back to bed like you weren’t gone for four and half hours without a trace. Okay. That sounds perfectly fine by me!”

“Frederick,” Will said slowly. “Please trust me on this. It was a – work thing. I will explain it to you tomorrow.”

“Why didn’t you pick up your phone?” Chilton brushed past Will to sit down on the bed, his arms crossed. “I called you three times and I know you saw them because the third one went straight to voicemail.”

Will took a deep breath and joined Chilton on the bed. “I’m so sorry, Frederick. I had a difficult time at a crime scene this morning and I needed to go back there.”

Chilton furrowed brow and stared back with alarm. “You could have left a note, you could have answered your phone, you –“

“I know, I know. I got caught up. I thought I could leave and come back without you noticing and, well –“

“What?”

“I got lost for a little bit.” Will didn’t know exactly why he was admitting this to Chilton at such an ill-chosen time.

“What, driving there?”

“No. I lost time again. I went there to work something out and one minute I was in the house and the next I was standing in the middle of the woods.” Will watched as anger melted into melancholy on Chilton’s face.

“But why? Why did you go there? Alone?”

“I called Beverly. Katz. She came to help, I wasn’t alone.” Will stood up and slipped out of his clothes so he was back down to his shorts and undershirt while Chilton buried his head in his hands. “Listen, I don’t have a good explanation right now. I’ll make sense of it for you tomorrow, okay?”

“Fine.” Chilton crawled back under the blanket waiting for Will to join him. “I was really fucking scared, Will.”

Will turned off the light and sidled up next to him, this time being the one to be held. Chilton deeply inhaled his scent and hugged him tight, afraid to let him go ever again. Will turned his head up to Chilton’s and stroked his cheek.

“I’m afraid, Frederick. And I’m sorry.” Will’s voice became shaky. “Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m awake. Sometimes I’m not sure what I’m capable of. I need you keep me here, okay?”

“Keep you where?” Chilton put his hand on top of Will’s, taking it from his cheek and pressing to his mouth.

“With you.”

Will kissed him softly and all of Chilton’s anger dissipated. This was the Will Graham he wanted, the Will Graham he knew. And although his anxiety had been pacified in that moment, the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right stayed with him. He didn’t know what Will was capable of either and that was the frightening reality of their relationship. The scans were clean, the results were clear: there was nothing wrong with him neurologically. So what was wrong with him? _When presented with two competing hypotheses, the one with the fewest assumptions was most likely to be correct._


	12. Four Dinners and a Homicide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal entertains four guests over the course of four evenings and takes care of a nuisance in a very permanent manner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Hannibal-centric chapter, so I'm sorry to break the news that there aren't any Will/Chilton scenes. Another TW for graphic depictions of violence.

Dr. Donald Sutcliffe was a man who believed he had an immovable moral compass. He lived by the Hippocratic oath, a doctor who was genuinely fascinated by the brain and the secrets it held. Not the secrets people held onto, secrets about forbidden affairs and answers written on sweaty palms during tests for which they were unprepared. No, he was determined to unlock the secrets of how the brain functions; he was passionate about it. Surely, like any doctor who graduated in the top 1% of their class, he delighted in having an esteemed reputation, in being invited to be a keynote speaker at various conferences, of having his research published time and time again. It came with other perks as well, like having beautiful young nurses and hospital donor’s wives hungry for his touch, desperately attracted to his monumental talent and acclaim. He could have coasted on the established career he built for himself, settling down as just another neurologist at Noble Hills Heath Care Center while some of the up and comers took the reins and continued his research without him. But he cared a great deal about the brain. He cared about the fact that there was a laughable myth being perpetrated that humans only use ten percent of the organ, that we aren’t harnessing it’s true potential. His own brain was always buzzing with electricity, the firing of neurons shooting through the spongy tissue like lightening. The lightening was about to strike Sutcliffe’s moral compass and it was up to him to decide whether or not he would keep it insulated, considering there was a certain lie he told to a troubled patient, one to whom he was referred by a noteworthy colleague.

Sutcliffe’s respect for Dr. Hannibal Lecter was tremendous. Having completed a residency alongside him at Johns Hopkins, he saw firsthand what an incredible doctor he was, and an enigmatic one at that. Hannibal didn’t talk much about his past but instead focused on the present, something his peers had a hard time doing. While their lives revolved around where they would end up after finishing their duties as residents, whether or not they would be granted fellowships, or how they would pay off their debts, Hannibal spent his time drawing scalpels along warm, smooth flesh with peerless concentration in the same way he would with his sharpened pencils over crisp, fine grain paper. Sutcliffe was never jealous of him, unlike most of their peers, but wholly fascinated. How could one man be an exceptional surgeon, a masterly artist, a musician of both the theremin and harpsichord, and possess an inconceivable sense of smell? Sutcliffe remembered the way Hannibal would amuse the hospital staff by precisely identifying a nurse’s perfume with just one whiff of her wrist. Surely, Hannibal’s brain was hardwired with an advanced operating system that Sutcliffe was always eager to study.

Most of their confreres held onto juvenile animosity merely because Hannibal was impossible to beat in the surgical field and what was most irritating was that he wasn’t at all competitive. It was too bothersome for him to engage with such a flaw in mortal beings; he was closer to a god than anything else. Not the kind of god that thrives on worship, but one that finds beauty in a world he created. Sutcliffe saw that in him and deemed him the sanest person he knew amongst the petty, egotistical, and possibly psychotic people he worked alongside. As a neurologist, he’d read the studies about psychopaths, about the research that had gone into determining exactly what makes a person a psychopath and that surgery was a field that they were drawn to. Sutcliffe was sure he operated next to a few psychopaths in his time, but the fact that Hannibal Lecter could be one of them never crossed his mind. Yet earlier that week he was introduced to a side of the man he hadn’t seen before. After Hannibal withdrew from surgery because of his failure to save a patient, Sutcliffe was surprised that the measured resolve his colleague always possessed was so easily shattered by something commonplace in their field. Perhaps the true Hannibal Lecter had been hiding beneath a surface of tranquility after all.

Sutcliffe wasn’t a fool. He could sense dubious intentions in Hannibal’s suggestion that they lie to Will Graham about his diagnosis, but Hannibal was right: It was an incredibly rare opportunity to study the neurological and psychological effects of anti-NMDA receptor encephalitis on the human body. Caused by an autoimmune reaction, neurologists once believed it was a response to a specific kind of tumor, but as more cases emerged, the more that theory was refuted considering how many of them were presented with no detectable tumors. Less than 600 cases had been diagnosed and less than 20% of them were reported to have been male. It was a neurologist’s dream for such a rare and little researched malady to fall right into his lap, but Sutcliffe couldn’t shake the way Hannibal so flippantly suggested he allow the needle of his moral compass spin frenetically between true north of the Hippocratic oath a doctor swears by and the flaw in humanity driving his own selfish intentions. Perhaps dinner with Hannibal Lecter could shed some light on the predicament.

As Sutcliffe pulled on his jacket before heading out the door, he took a moment to examine the reproduction of Rembrandt’s _The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp_ he had mounted in his hallway. Tulp gazed at an unseen amphitheater of medical professionals, dissecting the musculature of an executed criminal, an event he was allowed to do publicly only once a year. Studious men surrounded him, listening intently to what the good doctor had to say, but avoided looking directly at the corpse for some unknown reason. Perhaps they couldn’t stomach it or perhaps they were jealous of Tulp’s achievement in their shared field of study. Sutcliffe examined the man’s expression; it was composed, but there was a passion in his eyes, as if he knew he was changing the world for the better. Nicolaes Tulp was well known for his upstanding moral character, but he was better known still for his impressive work in medicine. Sutcliffe sighed, wondering if he could do the same, if he could have strong moral integrity and the ability to discover unprecedented breakthroughs about the most mystifying organ in the human body. Would he rather be an unscrupulous pioneer in neurology or a righteous man whose name would name would eventually slip into obscurity?

He walked out into the chilly Baltimore air and looked at the stars, hoping for an answer that would never come.

Sutcliffe sat directly next to the large leg of an outrageously expensive pig at Hannibal’s elegant dinner table. He wasn’t sure if Jamón Ibérico was more delicious than any other cured meat he’d had, but he couldn’t dispute the fact that it was indeed a succulent treat he would have never had the chance to taste if he were not dining alongside Hannibal Lecter. Their conversation was pleasant enough; they discussed Sutcliffe’s most recent research and Hannibal’s last article in the Journal Of Abnormal Psychology, going back and forth on how neurology could determine psychology and vice versa, which would inevitably lead them to the subject of Will Graham. Sutcliffe was hesitant in broaching the subject, speaking in a delicate, measured tone, as he wasn’t quite so sure he was ready to uncover Hannibal’s true intentions. He took a hefty bite before changing the subject from how psychology might override neurology to what was bound to arise, looking up from his plate to the psychiatrist’s placid visage.

“So we know how Ibérico gets his pigs; how did you get yours?” Sutcliffe scrutinized Hannibal’s expression, which had the slightest bit of indignation written on it. _Shit. I’ve hit a nerve._

“Are you referring to Will Graham?” replied Hannibal as his eyes briefly pierced through Sutcliffe’s, a bit offended that he referred to Will as a pig.

Sutcliffe recognized his miscalculated choice of words and made sure to choose his next ones carefully. “You know you’re fond of the rarefied. What makes him so rare?”

Hannibal cut forcefully into his meal, the sound of his knife grating on fine china as his face faintly soured. He rested his forearms on the edge of the table, holding the knife high above his plate and exhaled sharply. “Will has a remarkable imagination. Beautiful. Pure empathy. Nothing he can’t understand and that terrifies him.”

“So you set his mind on fire.”

Sutcliffe furrowed his brows, a tingling sensation taking over his body while he looked down at his plate and shifted the food around, unable to stomach another bite; he processed Hannibal’s even responses, about how Will is his friend and that imagination could be an accelerant for a fever. He felt Hannibal’s eyes bore into him as he became increasingly more uncomfortable at the thought of causing irreparable damage to a man that clearly needed his help. Sutcliffe thought of Dr. Tulp, of what he may do in such a situation. Tulp only dissected criminals, men who allegedly deserved to die. Will Graham didn’t deserve to be lied to, especially considering how delicate and beautiful his mind was according to his psychiatrist. Sutcliffe decided right then and there that he would save Will Graham from Hannibal’s questionable motivations. He didn’t need to be a Nicolaes Tulp or a Jonas Salk or a Henry Gray; he needed to help a man who was suffering, and if that meant he’d lose his shot at fame in the world of medicine, then so be it.

Sutcliffe kept his eyes down, quickly growing nervous at what objectives his host had in mind. “So how far does this go? Do you put out the fire or do you let it burn?”

Hannibal knew in that moment that it would be necessary for Dr. Donald Sutcliffe’s life to come to an end. He pursed his lips and assured his guest they would extinguish the fire at the right time, but smelled fear and panic gushing from the man’s pores.

“He has asked for more tests,” Sutcliffe uttered, realizing that he had unconsciously shifted the power into Hannibal’s hands. _Do **you** put out the fire? Do **you** let it burn?_ His words hung in the air and he regretted saying them while becoming increasingly tense over the silence between them. He surveyed Hannibal’s expression; it was cold with marked portents of unpredictability. Sutcliffe didn’t feel intimidated per se, but there was a change in his sentiment towards Hannibal Lecter, the sanest man he knew.

“Now that we have confirmed what it is, it’ll be easier to hide from him.” Hannibal brought the bowl of his glass to his nose, inhaling the many notes of the cabernet sauvignon it held: Licorice, smoke, caramel, forest floor, tobacco, plum, a hint of oak. Staring into the undisturbed surface of deep red wine before taking a sip, he retreated into his mind, remembering a session he had with Will earlier that week, a session about a woman who had cut a girl’s face down to the hinge of her jaw. Hannibal watched Sutcliffe awkwardly swallow the rest of his meal and knew exactly how he was going to die.

After thanking his host and walking to his car, Dr. Donald Sutcliffe felt tightness in his chest, the compass’s needle being yanked back and forth within him. He realized he was afraid of Hannibal Lecter and that doing his bidding might be in his best interest. Emotion clashed with pragmatism; being afraid of Hannibal made no sense. What evidence did he have that the revered psychiatrist was a threat to him? Doctors live by evidence, by charts, by the opaque branches of hardened calcium collocated on under-lit x-ray film. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about Hannibal, that he was disguising a part of himself that left Sutcliffe overwrought. What rarity did Will Graham contain that he coveted so much? It couldn’t just be his patient’s mind. If it were, he wouldn’t be so intent on spoiling it with encephalitis. Sutcliffe no longer trusted the man. _Do not trust Hannibal Lecter._

Jack Crawford was sure to be quiet as he prepared to depart for the evening. He was finally taking up Hannibal Lecter’s invitation for dinner and it could not have come at a more opportune time. Being such good friends with a psychiatrist was odd for him, especially as the head of a behavioral science unit. They both studied the mind: Crawford studying killers, Hannibal studying the mentally ill. Well, killers are mentally ill in their own right, but they can’t be rehabilitated in the same way a person teetering on the edge of a razor blade, ready to drown in a sea of barbiturates, can be. No, he and Hannibal dealt with two different kinds of crazy and Crawford was beginning to worry that Will Graham could be both. He didn’t regret pulling Will out of the safety of his classroom, but the feeling that there wasn’t enough room to worry about him the way he should wracked him with guilt. Will was an innocent and didn’t deserve what he was being put through. But he was also saving lives, something Crawford had grown increasingly reliable on because there were others that were impossible to keep. Maybe if he saved enough lives, he could feel less broken by the one he couldn’t.

Bella occupied his thoughts as more time passed. He could hear her shallow breathing while he knotted his tie, recognizing his own sadness reflected in their vanity mirror. She spent more time sleeping than trudging through days filled with pain as of late. Of course, her lungs weighed heavy in her chest, but her heart weighed more. She couldn’t stand the way her husband looked at her sometimes; he was fighting too hard, hoping too much, choking on tears he wouldn’t let fall. Crawford always wanted to be the savior, to be the hero, to be the empyrean to Bella’s terra firma. _Bella, Bella, Bella_. She could not be saved. Crawford watched her reflection. Her head was tilted to the side on her pillow and she looked serene, not sick at all; but the wheezing and myriad of pill bottles that sat on the nightstand was a reminder that Crawford would soon be a widower. Yet Will Graham was also constantly in his thoughts. It was is if Will and Bella sat side by side in his mind, both in distress, both calling out for him. The more he focused on one, the more the other faded away.

Now he had Beverly Katz knocking about his head, voicing well-founded concerns about how far he was pushing Will. She was a smart cookie; having been the longest employed member of Crawford’s team, he wasn’t as dismissive of her opinion as he made her believe. Focused, practical, and sharp-witted, Bev Katz was vital and her insight on Will was difficult to ignore. _I need to tell her more often how much I value her work_ , Crawford thought as he made his way over to his sleeping wife. He gazed at how peaceful she looked, just as beautiful as the day they met in Italy. _Bella, Bella, Bella_. He had to leave.

“Poulet aux Porto,” Hannibal delighted as he placed a precisely assembled dish in front of Crawford. “Chicken breast with a white port cream sauce.”

“Ah, wonderful.” Crawford waited for Hannibal to sit before zealously delving into the meal. “I must say your cooking always puts me in a better mood, Hannibal.”

“Difficult times at the FBI?” Hannibal asked bluntly. “Or more specifically, difficult times with Will?”

“I’m worried about him,” sighed Crawford. He relaxed and sat back in his seat. “More worried than I usually am, to be honest. I’m sure he told you about what happened at the crime scene in Delaware?”

“He did.” Hannibal took a sip of wine and met Crawford’s eyes somberly. “I’m assuming you would like my opinion on what happened.”

“Well, he still isn’t officially your patient. He made that very clear at the scene, so if you don’t mind, I would appreciate your insight.” Crawford continued eating, “This is very tasty by the way.”

Hannibal smiled at the compliment. “Flattering me after soliciting private information about an employee; that’s an elementary tactic, Jack.”

“I’m merely praising a superb dish,” nodded Crawford. “But you know as well as I do that me knowing about Will’s state of mind is beneficial to all of us.”

“Of course.” Hannibal paused and licked his lips. “I fear Will is slipping from reality –“

“That he’s delusional?” Crawford interrupted.

“Most likely. I’m sure he told you that he thought he killed that young woman in Delaware.” Hannibal watched Crawford bow his head in confirmation. “Ever since killing Garrett Jacob Hobbs, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking what it is to take a life. His emotions feel truer to him than what is actually true. Now that we’ve confirmed there is nothing wrong physiologically, it’s impossible to ignore the psychological ramifications of the work he’s doing with you.”

“He wants to do it. He has told that to me time and time again,” Crawford said carefully, attempting to conceal an unrest swelling in him. “I wouldn’t keep sending him out there if he didn’t want to do it.”

“I’m not sure if it’s a matter of want anymore, Jack. You knew from the moment you walked into his classroom that you were putting Will in a potentially destructive environment. His desire to keep doing this work is clouded by the fact that he is a fighter; he doesn’t give up, he doesn’t want to fail you or any would-be victims. I’m sure you can relate to that.”

“Yes, I can.” Crawford cleared his throat after swallowing the last bite of chicken. “I saw a fear in him I’ve never seen before and he brushed it off, expecting me to do the same thing. I’m concerned with how all over the place he’s been too. The past couple months or so, he has seemed completely fine: focused, steady, hell even happy, or as happy as Will Graham can be but I may have jumped the gun on that.”

“Mental illness is unpredictable,” countered Hannibal. He knew why Will’s mood had been elevated but he had no intention of telling anyone. He was confident neither Will nor Frederick Chilton would be talking about it either. “And diagnosing it can be tricky. We know he has an unparalleled empathy that allows him to dissect the crime scenes you bring him to, but it also allows him to absorb them.”

“Absorb them.” Crawford frowned. “What do you mean absorb them?”

“You believe he understands how killers think, but I suspect he experiences what killers feel when they commit their crimes, as if he is becoming them. It is no longer a matter of simply putting the puzzle pieces together.”

“Then what is it?” Crawford’s voice took on a deep timbre that gave away how unnerved he was. “What are you trying to say, Hannibal?”

“I think you need to be careful,” he answered. “I don’t want to be rude, but I can’t help but think of what happened to your trainee.”

“No, not rude, although it does feel like a bit of a jab at me. But I’ll admit I’ve been thinking a lot about Miriam Lass lately for obvious reasons.” Crawford let out a sigh of relief. Having someone to talk about her felt like an opportunity to unburden. “I broke the rules with her because I knew she was special. She was astute and pragmatic and she made a connection that I couldn’t, that no one could. She caught him. The Ripper. She found him and left no trace of how she did it. She made a leap that I couldn’t explain, the same leaps that Will makes and that’s why I keep breaking the rules for him. But I keep a watchful eye on him, Hannibal. I’ve learned from that mistake and yet there’s a part of me that feels like I can’t protect him one hundred percent of the time.”

“Of course you can’t. He’s his own person, not an infant in need of constant supervision. If he says he can and wants to continue his work with you, neither you or I can stop him, no matter how much I insist he stop.”

“You think he should stop.” Crawford said harshly, dismayed but unsurprised by Hannibal’s assertion.

“Yes,” he firmly countered. “But the only person who truly understands Will is Will himself. Perhaps you just need to change your expectations of him.”

“I’m afraid I’ve broken him.”

“He was broken before you met him, Jack, but he believed the pieces had somehow come back together. Will was so far removed from what compelled him to withdraw from law enforcement that he didn’t bother to put himself back together. He swept those broken pieces under the rug and instead chose to live with a pack of dogs too withdrawn from others to gain perspective. Dogs don’t disappoint us. They don’t break us the way man does. They are innocent, just as Will is and with that comes loneliness.”

“He doesn’t mind being lonely, does he? Or at least alone.”

“That may be an oversimplification. He is used to being alone. I imagine his empathy disorder would make developing relationships difficult. Perhaps he finds himself seeing his reflection in a mirror rather than at the person in front of him and doesn’t like what looks back.” Hannibal stood and took Crawford’s plate, ready to retrieve the next course.

“You two have a relationship,” Crawford retorted, “one that I goes beyond doctor and patient from what I can see.”

“Will fascinates me but I don’t treat him like a commodity. I think he appreciates that and he’s opened himself up to me more than anyone else he’s known. Of course we have a bond, which is why I am trying to protect him.”

Crawford looked up at Hannibal stoically, perturbed by the notion that he treats Will like an object. “Are you saying you’re trying to protect him from me, Hannibal?”

“I’m trying to protect him from himself.”

With that, Hannibal slinked away into the kitchen, leaving Jack Crawford alone with his thoughts. _Miriam is dead. Bella is dying. Will is losing his mind. And Hannibal Lecter is making me doubt myself_. He became very aware of how alone he was, not just at the dinner table but also within his own life. He took a sip of wine, a creamy, oaky chardonnay that reminded him of his wife. She always preferred white to red. Red wine gave her a headache. _Bella, Bella, Bella._

Dr. Frederick Chilton stood in front of his closet, staring at the several expensive suits that hung inside it, all of them finely pressed and well taken care of. He was having a difficult time deciding which one would be most impressive for his dinner with Hannibal Lecter, as he always had an inexplicable need to impress him. Well, it wasn’t inexplicable, but Chilton liked to think he wasn’t as petty as he really was. Hannibal was always dressed to the nines, his suits not only impeccably tailored but also incredibly distinctive, as if they were plucked right out of a lavish Italian boutique. They probably were. In all his years of knowing Hannibal, Chilton had not seen him once in anything but a three-piece suit. _He probably sleeps in a goddamn suit_ , Chilton thought to himself as he mused about what goes on in the secret life of Hannibal Lecter. He looked at the time and realized he would be cutting it close if he didn’t pick a suit fast, so he pulled out a navy blue ensemble, the most expensive one he owned. Having dinner with his colleague always seemed to stress him out much more than it should. As he gave himself one final look over, he realized that the suit he was wearing was the same one he wore the first time he met Will Graham. The strained expression on his face relaxed as he thought about his boyfriend, a word he still getting used to. _My boyfriend_. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have anyone to brag about him to. He wasn’t ready to tell his mother since she would most likely phone every person she was related to and shout, “My Frederick is in love! Yes, it finally happened! We can all stop worrying, thank god! I’d love to talk but I have to call Maritza and Blanca and Ximena and Mateo and –“ the list would go on and on in rapid fire Spanish. No, Chilton would hold off on telling another soul for just a little while longer, especially his mother.

This dinner with Hannibal couldn’t have come at a better time: The higher ups at BSHCI were not thrilled with Charles Lin’s suicide and they were furious over Abel Gideon’s upcoming malpractice suit against them. Chilton was in scalding hot water and whether he wanted to admit it or not, he desperately needed Hannibal’s guidance. He wasn’t looking forward to the I-told-you-so attitude he was sure he’d receive from the only person he perceived as more pretentious than him, but at least he’d have an exquisite meal and some sage advice by night’s end. He would have preferred to be with Will, as he knew he was having a rough go of it since what happened in Delaware, but they were both dealing with their own time consuming predicaments that left them little time to see each other. Chilton missed him nonetheless.

He saw a growing layer to snow collect on the ground when he opened his garage door and lamented the fact that his ridiculous car wasn’t very reliable in inclement weather. He sneered as he plopped in the drivers seat and buckled the belt. _Frederick, you are such an asshole_ , he thought as he backed out into his driveway. _You just **had** to have this wind up toy of a car. _

“So, Hannibal,” Chilton said, finishing up his first course. “I’m sure you’ve heard what’s been happening at my hospital.”

“I have.” Hannibal dabbed the corners of his mouth with a crisp linen napkin. “Rather unfortunate.”

“Yes, it is.” Chilton sighed and massaged his forehead. “Tell me, have you ever had a patient commit suicide?”

“Only once. It was a very disturbing event, but not uncommon in our field. My patient decided she was better off without medication and stopped taking her anti-depressants without tapering off of them, unbeknownst to me of course. Unfortunately, I am not a psychic and even less fortunate, patients lie when they find it most convenient.” Hannibal gave Chilton a supportive glance, feeling sorry for the man. He truly was pitiful. “You’re the administrator of a hospital full of liars.”

Chilton let out a sigh of relief, feeling comforted by the fact that Hannibal Lecter was indeed fallible. “Charles Lin had quickly become a model patient. He was receptive to therapy, he was accessible and even eager to be tested, but he got overly attached to me. I can’t help but feel it was my fault that he dealt with those feelings in such a permanent manner.”

“Transference is a delicate matter. There are few options when it comes to diffusing inappropriate feelings a patient may have for their psychiatrist.”

“Yes,” replied Chilton, “I hadn’t experienced transference until working with this particular inmate. Have you been exposed to it?”

“On a couple of occasions.” Hannibal smirked ever so slightly as Chilton thought, _oh, what a surprise that some poor soul fell in love with a handsome European in a well-tailored suit_. “In fact, I just recently dealt with it.”

“And what did you do?” Chilton was eager to compare notes with his much more adept associate to see if he had made the right decision when it came to Lin.

“I referred him to another doctor,” Hannibal said shortly, conveniently leaving out the detail that he’d snapped the man’s neck and subsequently pummeled in the head of his would-be murderer with a bronze elk statuette.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one, then.” Chilton’s expression quickly turned smug, having been substantiated in his decision to abandon Lin. “I was going back and forth on whether or not I should have let another staff member take over or try to talk through Charles’ feelings for me.”

“I think it was a wise decision, Frederick. I would have felt even more worried with a murderer experiencing transference than I did a neurotic loner with an ardent crush.”

“What made him so different than any other patient you’ve discontinued therapy with?” Chilton was surprised at how genuinely interested in the conversation he’d become. He wasn’t fishing for information or faking his way through the meal as he had so often done in the past.

“He was stalking me. He first pretended to bump into me at a charity event at the Walters Art Museum and then began watching me shop at various specialty shops. He insisted it was coincidental, but it was very clear to me that wasn’t the case. It was incredibly uncomfortable and I had no choice but to put my safety first.”

“Very understandable. I felt threatened as well. But that threat has been eradicated you could say.” Chilton cleared his throat, ready to broach a new subject. “I’m not sure he would have gone through with it if Abel Gideon weren’t whispering in his ear like a snarky, self-satisfied Iago.”

“Dr. Gideon certainly is a trouble maker, isn’t he?” Hannibal rose and gathered their dishes. “As if a lawsuit weren’t enough to embarrass you.”

“Indeed,” Chilton replied curtly. That last statement stung. It felt as if Hannibal were calling him an embarrassment himself.

“Why don’t you join me while I prepare the next dish. We can further discuss Abel Gideon.”

He followed Hannibal, at first feeling like a puppy but then couldn’t help but take note that his host was eager to spend time with him rather than leave him alone to sulk with _Leda and the Swan_. As they entered the kitchen, Chilton felt more at ease with Hannibal than he ever had; less like a colleague and more like a friend. Perhaps all the fretting he did over whether or not Hannibal liked him got in the way of actually liking Hannibal. Jealousy has a way of making one find flaws in others rather than perfectly good reasons to like them. Now that he felt more secure in himself, Chilton could see why Will trusted the man so much. There was a peculiarity in the fact that Chilton felt closer to Hannibal because he felt so close to Will, as if his friendship were a complimentary after dinner mint, a surprising and welcome treat.

Chilton wasn’t comfortable talking about Gideon with Will; he was embarrassed about his failings and couldn’t bear thinking about a time when Will despised him. It was a chapter in their relationship he wanted to keep closed. But it seemed with Hannibal that a new chapter was just beginning, one where Chilton wasn’t too caught up in his insecurities to recognize that Hannibal wasn’t perfect either.

“I won’t look good in court, Hannibal.” Chilton watched Hannibal fold and weave together banana leaves with expertise. “There was a suicide attempt some months ago and a successful one last week. I’m sure that will be held against me. At least Gideon has threatened to do so.”

“If it’s true that he in any way assisted Charles Lin’s suicide, his council would be foolish to bring it up. It could damage his case quite considerably. I wouldn’t worry about it, Frederick.” Hannibal scooped a bright orange stew into the leaves, which had magically become a bowl beneath his fingertips. “At this point, you need to concern yourself with who will be easier to believe: you or Dr. Gideon.”

“What would you do in my position?”

Hannibal looked up from the plates he was garnishing. “Deny everything.”

Chilton followed Hannibal back into the dining room and stood at the window, watching snow fall peacefully. Fresh snow seemed so innocent, still reminiscent of childhood wonder but somehow lonesome at the same time. Hannibal was helpful enough in elucidating Gideon’s narcissism and how susceptible he was at being manipulated but it brought Chilton no comfort. It was a similarly snowy evening when he accepted his position as a psychiatrist at BSHCI years prior, a decision he didn’t take lightly. At the time, he was stuck between working for less pay and less chance of upward mobility at a hospital that dealt with far less dangerous patients and the one that lead him to where he stood at that moment. Of course, there was something more intriguing about treating the criminally insane, an opportunity that not many psychiatrists were offered, but as he listened to a silence that was somehow unique only to snow, he wondered how different life would have been at a humdrum hospital for the conventionally insane.

“If only I had been more curious about the common mind,” said Chilton forlornly.

“I have no interest in understanding sheep. Only eating them.” Hannibal ladled the fragrant curry onto their plates as they moved to sit. _Sheeple_ thought Chilton, in an attempt to bring some sense of levity to his predicament as Hannibal explained the course; he always did his most adventurous eating at Hannibal’s table and while the idea of dining on sheep’s intestine didn’t sound appetizing, he trusted the dish would taste far better than it sounded. The more they talked of Gideon, the more Chilton accepted what a foolish mistake psychic driving had been. Hindsight is always 20/20 and he winced at the memory of feeling proud that he’d finally broken down Gideon’s personality. But he had tried too hard.

“Once the patient is exposed to the method of manipulation, it’s less effective. As soon as they feel pushed, they will push back,” Hannibal glanced knowingly at his guest, recognizing how in need he was of assistance. “The subject mustn’t be aware of any influence.”

“I appreciate your support,” noted Chilton. “I don’t have many friends in the psychiatric community, as I’m sure you’re aware. Certainly not at the hospital.”

“You do thankless work. I’m sure it must be difficult trying to please everyone.”

“Yes, being an administrator, I have to balance practicing psychiatry with being a bureaucrat as well as overseeing the staff. I’m the hospital’s punching bag,” he paused to sigh. “And I’m not easy to like. I know that.”

“You’re interesting, Frederick.” Hannibal smiled at him warmly.

“Oh, really?” Chilton laughed. He was surprised that Hannibal Lecter would ever say such at thing about him, let alone to his face. “How am I interesting?”

“You want to be liked, but you make yourself unlikable,” he responded, watching Chilton’s expression turn contemplative. “Yet you’re very likable when you’re not trying to be. A bit of a catch-22.”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“No. And I suppose that’s why you don’t have many friends. You don’t give others a chance to see who you truly are.”

“You’re right,” Chilton conceded. “I was always a bit of an outcast, I suppose; never the best at anything, an easy target for bullying. I tried to fake-it-til-you-make-it, but I never made it.”

“So you kept faking it.”

“Yes.” Chilton couldn’t believe how much he was divulging as well as how receptive Hannibal was to his confessions. He didn’t feel any judgment coming from him either. In fact, he was feeling understood. “It’s odd that we’re speaking so candidly all of the sudden.”

“You’re easier to talk to when you’re happy, Frederick. I think Will is having a positive effect on you.”

“Oh.” Chilton shifted self-consciously in his seat. The subject of Will Graham was the last thing he expected to be talking about.

“We don’t have to discuss Will if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No, I just – I just wasn’t expecting you to bring him up.”

“You’re both friends of mine,” imparted Hannibal, “and I’m interested in knowing how things are going between the two of you.”

“Does Will not talk to you about me?” Chilton didn’t know how to feel about Will staying so guarded about their relationship. He thought Hannibal would be the one person he would talk to about it.

“I broached the subject with him when you first became involved, but he got upset.” Hannibal saw Chilton’s face droop, insecurity written all over it. “I was indelicate and twisted his arm a little too much. I should have waited until he was ready to discuss it, but I was worried that perhaps it was a bad time for him to enter a relationship. Especially one of such a foreign nature.”

“Understandable. His life is,” Chilton hesitated. “Complicated.”

“Very. I worry about him quite a bit, Frederick.”

“So do I. A lot.”

Hannibal looked down pensively. “I’m not trying to engage in school yard gossip, but –“

“But what?” Chilton said nervously.

“Are you aware of his dissociations?”

“Yes. I know about all of it: The sleepwalking, the lost time, the um – the delusions.”

“The brain scan didn’t turn anything up.” Hannibal leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. “Surely as a psychiatrist, you can’t ignore that something is clearly wrong.”

“I know, Hannibal. Something is very wrong. But he doesn’t need yet another person in his life to tell him that. I’m trying to be supportive.”

“I don’t want you’re being supportive to put you in danger though.”

Chilton clenched his jaw, trying not to get too emotional. “I don’t think Will is dangerous.”

“I do.” Hannibal stared at Chilton, waiting for a response but he got none. “Has Will ever been violent towards you?”

“I – ,“ Chilton’s voice cracked. “Not purposely.”

“It’s good we can talk about this, Frederick. Will isn’t telling me these things and I don’t want either of you to get hurt because of it.”

Chilton took a deep breath and began softly, “He had a nightmare recently,” he paused, “I woke up with him on top of me and he was choking me. I thought I was going to die.”

“What happened?”

“I knew that something wasn’t right. I knew he had to have been asleep, but his eyes were open and it looked like he knew exactly what he was doing. I was terrified, Hannibal. Truly. The look in his eyes – “

Hannibal took in a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Chilton looked back at him, finding comfort in his condolences and concerned expression. He finally had someone to talk to about Will, someone who knew him as well as he did and in a much more objective way.

“I care a great deal about Will and I would not be able to forgive myself if something were to happen to him or anyone he cared about because he wasn’t getting proper treatment.”

“It’s Jack Crawford and the F.B. Fucking I.” Chilton bemoaned. “They’re breaking him. Jack Crawford is going to push him too far.”

“I can’t disagree with you on that. But Will doesn’t want to quit.” Hannibal pushed his chair back and slowly stood up to take their plates away. “You need to be careful with him. For your sake.”

Chilton looked up at Hannibal imploringly as he reached over him, desperate for an answer to a question he couldn’t ask.

“You can’t save him just by loving him, Frederick. Love can’t cure mental illness.”

Hannibal left Dr. Frederick Chilton alone with the silence of snowfall and the thunder of heartbreak.

Will Graham had too much on his mind. He usually did, but more so than ever as he pulled on his smartest blazer, which was casual at best. He tried to look somewhat presentable when he dined with Hannibal Lecter, but he was familiar enough with the man to know that it was just a formality at that point. Hannibal didn’t care one way or another, but it felt discourteous to not at least put in the effort to look well groomed. He clumsily knotted his tie in the bathroom mirror and was haunted by the smiling face of Georgia Madchen. The picture her mother handed him days before depicted a happy, healthy young woman that had a future ahead of her, whether it was bright or not was irrelevant. She had one at some point. Now she was unwittingly a murderer because she thought she was dead and she couldn’t see faces. Will still saw the face of the girl she killed, blood streaming out of the slit flesh of her waxen cheeks, choking, gasping, dying.

He inhaled sharply and snapped himself out of the grim reverie. He was tired of feeling crazy and depressed that he was beginning to doubt himself. Mrs. Madchen had rattled off all of the ways doctors had failed her daughter, how scans and tests were inconclusive, how mental illnesses are harder to diagnose than we are made to believe, how there aren’t always answers and it’s the questions that drive us mad. Will no longer knew what was harder: holding onto the belief that he wasn’t mentally ill or letting go of the hope that if he tried hard enough he could be sane.

Why didn’t he want to be mentally ill so vehemently? There’s no humiliation in it. No one is at fault for having a mood disorder or being schizophrenic or having Cotard’s syndrome. But there is a certain type of shame attached to it, a label, a desire to keep it a secret. If Will were mentally ill, he’d be dispatched from the field immediately, deemed unfit to do the job. Hell, teaching at the academy might be out of the question as US government agencies have strict screening tests for all of their employees and if anyone is going to tiptoe their way around discrimination laws, it would be the US government. Will couldn’t shake the way Jack Crawford looked at him throughout their interview with Mrs. Madchen, as if everything she was saying applied to him, and yet Crawford asserted not 10 minutes after she left that he was there for Will, that he was his bedrock, that he didn’t need to be doubted, but it felt like bullshit. The sense of stability Crawford conjectured about wasn’t of the work Will was doing for him. No, it was Frederick Chilton. He was the stability in his life; he was the man that didn’t doubt him. Crawford could bellow all he wanted about how much he cared, but at the end of the day Special Agent Will Graham was still someone who represented Jack Crawford, head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Will and Chilton hadn’t spent a lot of time together in the past week; Chilton was swamped at the hospital, dealing the impending malpractice suit and Will was feeling…unstable. He had subconsciously distanced himself because he was beginning to feel an impending sense of doom, like he was at the top of a rollercoaster but couldn’t see the track below. He was afraid of plunging into that darkness and he was terrified of pulling Chilton down with him. But he had a selfish need to cling to the man, to his lover, to an unexpected and necessary element in the most tumultuous time in his life. Will no longer knew what was harder: holding onto the belief that Frederick Chilton would be safe with him or letting go of the hope that his mental illness wouldn’t tear them apart.

He filled his dogs’ bowls up before heading out the door, his mood soured by the fact that the snow that fell two days prior had melted into a slush that left Wolf Trap and the Bay area drowning in grey puddles.

“I have another appointment with Dr. Sutcliffe tomorrow evening.” Will had taken the last bite of his apple tarte tatin, a simple but scrumptious dessert that rounded out a classically French course.

“That’s good, Will. I support your quest for more answers.” Hannibal refilled their wine glasses, draining the bottle to its last drop.

“I thought you sat firmly on the side of mental illness,” said Will after taking a sip of wine. He wondered why Hannibal was being elusive suddenly. He had been insistent that mental illness was to blame and yet continued to let Will hold onto the hope it wasn’t.

“Dr. Sutcliffe knows much more about how the brain is hardwired than I do and if he thinks more tests will be helpful, then I see no reason to object. I’m a psychiatrist, Will. It’s in my nature to think about the mind rather than the brain itself.”

Will smiled, feeling slightly more optimistic about further testing. He was sure Hannibal was going tell him he was barking up the wrong tree again.

“Have you had any luck finding the Madchen girl?”

“No,” sighed Will. “We know she’s out there, we know she killed Beth LeBeau, and we know she’s sick. But that’s all we’ve got. There’s not much more I can do than wait.”

“For her to kill again?” Hannibal took an ample sip of wine, licking his lips as he brought the glass back down.

“I’m not sure. Frankly, I don’t think she will kill again. From what her mother told me, Beth was her only real friend and I doubt Georgia Madchen would be targeting any strangers.”

“What about her mother?”

“She has a couple officers safeguarding her house incase Georgia tries to find her.”

“I know this has been a particularly difficult case, but I trust you’ll land on your feet. You don’t back down easily.”

Will smirked, only half believing Hannibal’s gesture of support, as he had been so adamant in the past that he was walking in the wrong direction down the path to recovery. “Why the sudden change in tune, Dr. Lecter?”

“I haven’t changed my opinion, Will. I still think what you’re struggling with is mental illness, but I have come to the conclusion that wrestling with you on the matter won’t change your mind.”

Will hesitated to speak. He was grateful that Hannibal was willing to budge, but he had become reliant on the fact that he was always there to push him. “Unless I change my own mind.”

“Are you doubting yourself?” Hannibal gazed at Will compassionately, but was inwardly congratulating himself. He was moving chess pieces around the board, carefully plotting the different outcomes. Hannibal’s pieces, however, weren’t made of wood or ivory, but of hair and bone and tissue. He would continue to gather specimens when he paid Dr. Sutcliffe a visit the following evening. Will already began to believe he was capable of murder; supplying him with a motive like getting results he wasn’t happy about would further exacerbate his insecurities. Jack Crawford and the F.B.I. would take all evidence at face value and turn on Will in a heartbeat. Frederick Chilton was beginning to fear for his own life and was no longer being clouded by the intoxication of love, having the reality of what Will was going through slowly crystallizing before him. By the end of the game, the only person Will would have left is Hannibal. At that point, it was just wait-and-see.

“I don’t know. I’m doubting my own doubt and the fact I’m doubting anything at all is unsettling.” Will rubbed his forehead, a headache coming on. The wine certainly didn’t help. “But I know who I am.”

Their eyes met and Hannibal squinted at Will. “I believe you know who you are. But do you know _what_ you are?”

Will paused to take a deep breath. “I’m still figuring that out.”

His headache worsened during the drive home. He shouldn’t have had that last glass of wine and although he certainly wasn’t drunk, he was having a hard time focusing on the road in front of him. He stayed in the right lane, driving under the speed limit as other cars sped past him in a blur of lights and the hum of tires on concrete. His mind was crowded; he worried that Chilton’s trust in him would wane, that Jack Crawford would eventually pull him out of the field, that Dr. Sutcliffe would give him the same answer he did the last time they met. Will Graham no longer knew what was harder: holding onto the belief he knew definitively who he was or letting go of the hope that what he was would always remain the same. 

Dr. Donald Sutcliffe didn’t bother waiting for Will’s MRI to reveal the results of something he already knew. There was no point to sitting on the other side of the glass to watch imaging he’d seen before. He took a quick stroll to his office so he could make some calls to fellow neurologists about having found a rare case of anti-NMDA receptor encephalitis in a male, something they would be so excited to hear they would forget how bothersome it is to be called after hours, especially on their personal lines. Sure, he would have to start treatment immediately, but that was better than torturing an innocent man for the sake of furthering his career. He was sure Dr. Nicholaes Tulp would agree. When he reached his office, the door was wide open, which was odd because he could have sworn he closed it before leaving to meet his patient.

As he swung it shut, Hannibal Lecter swooped his arm around Sutcliffe’s neck hard enough so that he couldn’t scream. Sutcliffe felt the sharp points of thick creased plastic dig into his neck followed by the stinging sensation of a needle in his jugular. His body went completely limp but he was still conscious and came to realization that he’d been given some sort of tranquilizer. He prayed that he would pass out, but remained alert as Hannibal hooked his arms beneath his and dragged him to his large leather chair, plopping him down forcefully. Sutcliffe’s heart was pounding in his chest and he could hear himself screaming, yet no sound came out of his mouth. _Oh, god I was right! I was right! Please don’t kill me, please don’t fucking kill me, please Hannibal. Please!_

“I’m sure you’re familiar with succinylcholine, Donald,” Hannibal said flatly. “I wanted to have a chat with you, but I couldn’t have you interrupting me.”

He saw panic in Sutcliffe’s eyes, the only part of his body that could express any semblance of emotion. Succinycholine is a paralytic used when a patient is already under anesthesia to further relax their muscles and facilitate a more successful surgery. It wasn’t recommended that the patient be awake during the procedure however. Hannibal grabbed a pair of scissors off the desk he’d found earlier in its top drawer and brought them close to Sutcliffe’s face.

“I liked you Donald. It’s a shame you weren’t willing to work with me. The fire needs to burn just a while longer.” Hannibal grabbed Sutcliffe’s hair and pulled his head back so that it hung over the back of the chair, his mouth left wide open. Hannibal pushed down on his forehead while sawing through Sutcliffe’s right cheek. “You could have saved both of us a great deal of trouble if you had cooperated, but c’est la vie.”

Blood began to stream down Sutcliffe’s throat, sliding easily into his lungs as he looked up at Hannibal’s calm and focused demeanor. Despite being paralyzed, he could feel the searing pain of his cheeks being torn apart and the warmth of vital fluids suffocating him. _I don’t want to die! Not like this! God, please help me!_

Soon his neurons signaled the alarm to send epinephrine and other neurotransmitters throughout his nervous system so he didn’t have to be in pain anymore. The last thing he saw before slipping away was Hannibal Lecter’s labored manner and the sheen of a plastic suit. By the time Sutcliffe was dead, Hannibal had nearly decapitated him, unclenching his jaw from his head like a rusty bear trap. Sutcliffe's tattered face looked enough like Beth LeBeau's that Jack Crawford would quickly point his finger at Georgia Madchen, but different enough that Will would catch onto the fact that it was not her achievement. Hannibal dug the scissors into Sutcliffe’s gums so he could extract a tooth that would later come in handy; another chess piece to add to the board. Giving Sutcliffe’s head one last push, Hannibal smelled the pungent odor of rotting flesh and turned to see a jaundiced, silent woman looking for someone to save her. Hannibal remained calm, knowing immediately that it was the Madchen girl and that he didn’t need to kill her as she couldn’t see his face. Well, he might need to kill her at some point, but now was not the time. Quietly and confidently, Hannibal walked up to the corpselike girl and handed her the scissors, which she took without resistance. The girl was a variable he didn’t expect but a problem he could take care of easily. In chess, it’s common for players to purposely dispose of pawns in order to make larger moves. He’d knock her down eventually.

Hannibal Lecter strolled down the empty halls of the Noble Hills Health Care Center, making a small pit stop to the bathroom to remove his polyethylene suit and neatly fold it to pack away in a satchel he’d stored there earlier. He slunk away into the night, leaving Will Graham and Georgia Madchen to deal with the aftermath of his labor. He was sharpening the razor, clearing paths, and making big moves, smiling wide as he stepped out into the crisp Baltimore air.


	13. Lítost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal continues to manipulate Will and Chilton; A traumatic event leaves Chilton shattered.

Will replayed in his head the conversation he had with Alana Bloom a few hours previous as he stared out the towering windows of Hannibal’s office. She walked into his classroom with trepidation, concern etched across her delicate features and she wore another one of those wrap dresses that perfectly accentuated her tiny waist. Despite his ongoing romance with Frederick Chilton, Will still felt the twinge of rejection when he looked at her; she wore her hair in the same way she did the night they shared a passionate kiss. The Japanese have a word for a particular feeling that is often hard to describe: _Koi no yokan_. It isn’t necessarily love at first sight, but the feeling that a love between two people will eventually grow at the very first moment they meet. It’s closer to the spark of attraction but with a certainty that the flame will ignite. Will felt _koi no yokan_ when he was introduced to Alana at a symposium for whatever mundane topic he was forced to sit through that day; the subject of it was lost due to the fact that he could only watch Dr. Bloom and the way dark curls of hair snaked around the crook of her pale neck.

_I’m worried about you, Will_. Alana sat next to him on his desk, holding his hand between both of hers. He felt electricity in her touch. _I know things are complicated between us._ Her voice was shaky. _I feel like I’ve taken too many steps away from you, from us. I still don’t know what “us” even is, but I need you to know that I care about you and what happens to you._ Will wouldn’t look at her; he stared at the soft grip she had on his hand, at the powder blue veins that pulsed beneath the surface of her ivory skin. _You’re a grown-up_. Will let out a short laugh at the childish turn of phrase. _You know what I mean, an adult. My first instinct is to take care of everyone else, to be a mother hen. I shouldn’t do that with you because you can take care of yourself. I would be just as resentful if a friend said I was unstable and doubted me_. Will was finally able to bring his eyes to hers. _I told you I wouldn’t be able to stop analyzing myself and…us. Or the us we might have been._ She looked down. _Or the us we might be. I’m still not sure what to feel. I need to keep work at work and learn how to_ – She leaned her head back and let out a great sigh, closing her eyes while searching for the next word. _Compartmentalize_.

“Keep work at work.” “Compartmentalize.” Will heard those exact phrases before. Along with his unsettling ability to unequivocally empathize with nearly anyone came a vivid memory. He could retreat into his mind and flip through indices of conversations and photocopies of every event. He could scroll through words and images as if he were exploring a microfiche. Frederick Chilton’s voice echoed through the vast halls of his mind: _Every day I have to nitpick and analyze everything that goes on in my hospital. It’s exhausting. The last thing I want is to do that at home, so I’ve learned how to compartmentalize; keep work at work_. Frederick Chilton was able to segregate Will the person from Will the subject of speculation in the psychiatric community. Alana couldn’t do that before, but she was finally willing to and Will appreciated it greatly, yet he was sure that whatever had been between them was lost. And still he experienced a feeling that the Russians have named _razliubit_ : The feeling someone has for the person they once loved but now no longer do. Before Frederick Chilton, Alana Bloom was the only other person he had deeply amorous feelings for. The women of his past were trivial; Alana was not. She was important. But Frederick Chilton was more so now. As he pulled his hand away from hers, he felt both _razliubit_ for her and the unmistakable revelation that he was deeply in love with Frederick Chilton. There was no longer any doubt.

Alana brought her hand to Will’s cheek. _You feel warm._

“Will?” Hannibal looked at him with an inquisitive gaze. “Are you alright?”

Will breathed in deeply through his nostrils. “Alana Bloom came to see me today.”

“About what?”

“She apologized for being distant with me.”

“And did you accept her apology?” Hannibal sat completely still, watching Will fidget as a fine sheen of sweat began to flush his face.

“Yes,” he said as he drew a hand across his dampening forehead. “I don’t think I could have turned it down it even if I was still holding a grudge against–“

Will paused, surprised by how his voice faltered. _Why can’t I just let it go already?_

“Do you still feel spurned by her?” Hannibal was truly surprised at the conversation, something he usually didn’t experience during therapy sessions, even with Will. Yes, the man fascinated him and yes, he felt great pride and intimacy in their friendship, but he was still able to predict certain things about him; that’s why manipulating him was so effortless at times. It seemed Will’s love life was the only thing that continued to mystify him. Hannibal had wrongly assumed that Alana Bloom’s sway over Will would have evaporated in the wake of his relationship with Frederick Chilton and this new complication offered a small opportunity for well calculated interference.

“I don’t want to be with her, if that’s what you mean,” Will replied gloomily. “Unresolved tension makes me a little – discombobulated, I suppose.”

“Your relationship with Alana is an ellipsis without a phrase that carries a final punctuation.” Hannibal leaned back in his seat and clasped his hands together. “You were hurt by her rejection, especially because she didn’t fully reject you. Holding on to hope can get tiresome and I can’t imagine you would miraculously part with those unresolved feelings quickly. They were strong enough to compel you to drive an hour in the snow to tell me you kissed her.”

Will let loose a breathy laugh. He’d forgotten about that; not the kiss, but that he rushed to Hannibal to tell him the news. It felt like that evening had been buried amongst brief articles in the immense stacks of journals piled in his mind.

“Those feelings were easy to bury once you became involved with Frederick, I assume,” Hannibal pressed on.

“Of course they were,” said Will earnestly. “I feel at odds with myself. I want to keep things with Frederick intact but I look at Alana and still see the future I used to want.”

“What future?”

“A conventional one. A safe one. The future that most people strive for: a marriage, a home, a big family.” Will furrowed his brows and closed his eyes as a headache gradually came on.

“All the things your father didn’t have.” Hannibal studied Will’s body. His hairline was gathering beads of sweat and his left hand shook ever so slightly.

“Textbook psychiatry.” He forced a small smile as he pulled a bottle of aspirin from his pocket. “I’m not sure I was ever cut out for The American Dream.”

“As an expatriate, I can assure you that The American Dream isn’t anchored to a singular design. The dream depends on the individual.”

Will uncomfortably swallowed a few pills, feeling them struggle down his esophageal tract. “Well, I don’t dream much at all these days and when I do, they’re nightmares.”

“You’re still having trouble sleeping.”

“My most peaceful nights are when I have no dreams at all.” He frowned and returned his gaze to the windows where daylight was just beginning to fade. “But they’re hollow victories. It feels like I hadn’t even slept, like I was just absent for a handful of hours, floating on the surface of a cold, black lake. But I’d rather have that than –“

Will’s eyes briefly went out of focus and he shook his head to center him. Hannibal watched with an impassive gaze, just barely squinting as he catalogued Will’s involuntary movements. “Than what, Will?”

“I can’t tell sometimes,” he croaked. “I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or if I’m awake.”

“Like when you were at the crime scene in Delaware.” Hannibal let silence overtake the room for a few moments after Will had nodded wordlessly. “Jack was here earlier.”

“Ah.” Will immediately knew why.

“You found Georgia Madchen in your home a few nights ago. Were you purposely avoiding the subject?”

“Not purposely, no,” he contended a little more forcefully than he meant to. “There’s not much to say about it. I wasn’t in any danger and she’s getting the proper care she needs now.”

“Were you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Will glowered at Hannibal suspiciously. “Why is that good, Dr. Lecter?”

“I don’t think Frederick would have reacted well to finding a girl under your bed,” Hannibal replied in an even measure. “Especially a girl who killed two people.”

“I’m not sure she killed Dr. Sutcliffe,” Will asserted. He was hoping to shift the focus away from Chilton.

“That’s a conversation you should be having with Jack, then.” Hannibal sensed Will’s growing discomfort. “Crime scenes seem to be following you home, one that is no longer yours alone. Of course, I don’t know how often Frederick stays with –“

“I don’t think you need to,” he sputtered. The conversation was taking an unfamiliar turn. Although they had discussed his relationship with Chilton before, it always felt like philosophical conjecture, as if it were a just theory. Speaking so frankly about an assumed domesticity no longer held their affair at a safe distance away from Hannibal Lecter’s meddling.

“I’m not trying to upset you, Will.” Hannibal leaned forward, planting his feet on the ground to rest his forearms on his thighs. “Only putting things in perspective. You are feeling unstable, sometimes unable to recognize if you’re conscious or not. You’ve been losing time. You are put in dangerous situations because of your work with the FBI and only three nights ago, a woman wanted for murder broke into your house looking for you specifically. Ignoring these realities could bring harm to Frederick.”

Will clenched his jaw and gave Hannibal a steely glance. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m shining a light on something you’ve been determined to shroud in darkness.”

Hannibal could see that the stress of the conversation was exacerbating Will’s symptoms: The color drew from his face and he began to sweat profusely as he struggled to reply, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can keep him safe. I’m an FBI agent.”

“Special agent. You know precisely the footnote that accompanies your position,” Hannibal remarked. Will’s breathing became shallow and Hannibal rose swiftly to his medicine cabinet. “Perhaps now would be a good time to continue light stimulation. The absence of dreams means we’re heading down the right path, Will.”

“Hmm?” A faint ringing wheedled it’s way into his ear canal.

Hannibal moved quickly to Will’s side, placing the strobe light next to him and preparing a syringe. He softly grasped Will’s wrist and turned it over, presenting him with vulnerable, pulsating veins. Within seconds and the snap of a tourniquet, sodium amytal was surging through Will’s blood stream like a cold flood. Hannibal flipped on the strobe and sat down.

“Are you comfortable?”

Despite the sweat and shivering, Will’s expression was placid, a sure marker that he was completely malleable. “Oh, yes.”

“Good.” Hannibal smiled. The second time he used the strobe was slightly easier than the first but still presented some difficulties; Will shook too much then, causing Hannibal to miss the vein his needle honed in on. He didn’t want to stick Will too many times lest he leave a noticeable mark. This time, the transition was seamless. “Let’s talk more about Alana Bloom.”

“Okay.” Will stared into the middle distance past Hannibal’s head, another indicator that he wasn’t consciously present.

“She’s a good match for you, don’t you think?” Hannibal had no intention of bringing her into their conversation when Will first entered his office, but he was a great improviser and splitting Will’s loyalties between Alana and Chilton would make it all the easier for Hannibal to be the first person he’d flee to when the chisel he held finally cracked open Will’s psyche like an amethyst geode. “It would be a pity if you lost her.”

“I don’t want to lose her,” he said flatly.

“And now is not the time to give up on Alana. She would be a wonderful mother: Devoted, caring, present.” It was a cruel and necessary antithetical Hannibal needed to plant in Will’s mind, but drawing on the oldest psychiatric theories was a sensible lateral move. “Unlike your mother.”

“I don’t have a mother.”

“Wouldn’t it be comforting to have one in your life?” Hannibal smiled when Will nodded his head. “Good.”

“But what about Frederick?” Will murmured. His face was expressionless and his cognitive functions were rapidly slowing down.

“He’s afraid,” Hannibal said matter-of-factly. “You nearly choked him to death.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he moaned.

“Of course you didn’t, but it would be wise to put some distance between the two of you. You don’t want to hurt him again, do you?”

“No.”

Hannibal stayed silent and let the strobe flash rhythmically for several minutes, watching the way Will swayed slightly back and forth along with it. Soon, he began to nod off and Hannibal sprung forward to lightly slap his face. “I think it’s time for you to go home.”

“Okay.” Will rose and pulled out his keys, stumbling towards the door. Hannibal grabbed his hand and clasped it between his own two, relaxing it so that the keys slid out with ease.

“You’re in no state to be on the road. Let me drive you home.”

Hannibal left Will in his office as he made a quick trip to the basement to grab a few things. He glanced at Miriam Lass before turning off the light; she was fast asleep on a full size bed in the farthest corner of the room. Her expression was peaceful and she looked barely like a prisoner at all save for the glint of a steel chain snaking from beneath the blanket to the frame it was fastened to. He pondered how much longer he’d need to house and feed her.

The trip to Wolf Trap was uneventful. Will stayed quiet the whole time, staring blankly out the window. Hannibal wasn’t used to driving such a third-rate vehicle, but he didn’t want to leave Will stranded without his car and knew of enough accommodating taxi services in the area that getting back to Baltimore wouldn’t be much of an inconvenience. It was about time he made an outing to Will’s house as it was; he needed to arrange a few chess pieces to clear a path to check mate.

Hannibal helped Will out of the car and brought him inside, shushing the dogs as they barreled forward. He pulled out a few pieces of cured, rude meat from a baggie in his coat pocket and tossed them across the room, diverting the pack as he got Will out of his fleece jacket. Sitting him down on the couch, Hannibal placed a hand on the back of Will’s neck and cupped his forehead with the other. Will was burning up.

Inspecting an impressive array of fishing lures, Hannibal put his attaché case on the floor, pulled out a large plastic pillbox, and placed it on the worktable. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves and carefully clipped a finished lure into the hold tool. Slowly and delicately, he unraveled the string to disassemble the bright red lure just enough so as to add some elements of his own. Flicking open the pillbox, he gathered strands of Marissa Shure’s hair and placed it amid the lure’s skirt. Piece by piece, Hannibal added more and more bits of his victims’ remains to the collection of lures as Will slipped into a still slumber.

It was dark out when Chilton found himself rapping on Will’s door. He was relieved to see Will’s beat up car in the driveway when he pulled in, considering it was supposed to be parked in his driveway three hours earlier. Small panic had set in when the half dozen calls he made went unanswered and growing weary of pacing around his house, Chilton decided to speed down to Wolf Trap to put himself at ease. Chilton was always torn between his practicality and his emotions: The most likely scenario was that Will somehow forgot about their date because of all the stress he was under. He pictured him putting his phone on silent and drawing the curtains, too distracted to remember what day it was. However, Chilton couldn’t let go of all the worst-case scenarios that ran through his mind. Will was all alone in his tiny house, save for the dogs; he could have hurt himself during a blackout or even perished from something as pedestrian as choking on his lunch. The possibilities were endless and Chilton managed to think of one right after the next.

Relief washed over him when Will swung the door open, but that feeling quickly dissipated when he took in how sickly the other man looked.

“Will, are you okay?” said Chilton anxiously.

Will gaped back at him, slowly realizing that he was supposed to be in Baltimore eating a home cooked meal. “I – yes. I’m sorry, I completely – just come in.”

“You didn’t answer your phone,” he muttered as he pushed his way past Will, shooing the dogs. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Will tried to piece together his day, but it was slipping away from him. The more he grasped at it the more it vanished, as if he were trying to hold water with a sieve. “What time is it?”

“8:30.” After taking off his coat and shoes, Chilton drew Will close and felt his forehead. “You have a fever.”

“Is that your diagnosis, doctor?” Will said sheepishly. Any other time, Chilton would have rolled his eyes at him for such cheekiness, but instead he smiled and breathed a sigh of relief knowing that at least Will was okay enough to tease him. He pulled him in for a hug.

“I was so worried,” he spoke softly. “I had this terrible feeling that you were hurt.”

Will rest his head on Chilton’s shoulder and gently rocked side-to-side, finding comfort in the rhythm and warmth. “I missed you.”

Chilton held on tighter, feeling at once solace and sadness, overwhelmed by a violent battle between his heart and mind. Someone missed him, the man he loved, more specifically. There were countless times throughout his life where he was sure no one would ever miss him, that his existence had little meaning to anyone else. Too many hours spent sleepless, staring at the empty expanse of the stark ceiling above him, waiting for it crack open and swallow him whole. At night, he imagined his bed was a lifeboat drifting in an onyx ocean, hundreds of miles away from any shore, while the shipwreck of his life sunk far beneath the surface amidst ghoulish creatures and the wraiths of every life lost at sea. He had waited so long for love to find him.

But this love was dangerous and unsettling. _You can’t save him just by loving him, Frederick._ Hannibal Lecter’s words drifted through the back of his mind like white smoke. Chilton knew that something was wrong with Will, something he couldn’t fix and that knowledge felt like the burden of loneliness he’d grown so accustomed to. But holding and being held by Will felt so much like the burden was gone that it was easy to ignore anything was wrong at all. “Be careful what you wish for” never felt truer: He finally had love but the overwhelming sense of dread that it would soon be gone was tethered to it. _Love can’t cure mental illness_.

Chilton was so lost in thought that the kisses brushing his cheek and neck didn’t feel real at first. Earlier that day, he assumed he’d be the one desperate for contact but now Will was tugging at his clothes and kissing him like a starved man. His first instinct was to pull away, to talk to Will and have a serious conversation about what the hell was going on, but the heady intoxication of arousal pushed it further away until all thought was lost and he was driven by heat and hunger.

“I missed you, too,” Chilton managed to sigh between deep, fervent kisses.

Will was relieved to feel Chilton match his every move. The anxiety of losing himself, of not knowing who he was, of being crazy was pacified by Chilton being there with him, unafraid and tangible. The faces of the dead, the braying of a chimerical black stag, the whispers of Garret Jacob Hobbs’ final words all scorched the skies of his dreams, leaving him gasping and clawing for anything alive. It was a triumph to find Frederick Chilton willing to hold him, to love him. He could have tortured himself thinking of how afraid he was of hurting Chilton, how a rift could be forming as he repeatedly fled from the likelihood that he was crazy and dangerous, but the hands that pushed him down to his bed were too strong and their fingers too delicate in their touch for him to think of anything else.

Both men were shirtless and their frantic need slowed, turning to languid caresses and trails of kisses as they rubbed against each other. Will’s breath hitched when Chilton slid a hand to his cock, which had been straining against his jeans for what felt like hours. Chilton moaned at how hard the other man was beneath his fingertips and took a firm hold, stroking Will’s length slowly. Will lie back with eyes closed as he let Chilton continue touching him, progressively getting faster while his other hand moved across Will’s chest, brushing over stiff nipples and sending chills through his body. He was tempted to just stay there, to cum and melt into his bed, but he couldn’t shake a sense of dread that followed him all day that told him he needed to savor every lucid moment he had.

Will snatched Chilton’s hand away and pinned it to the bed, rolling over to straddle him forcefully. Chilton’s gasp at the sudden shift turned to moans as Will licked and nipped at his neck, roughly undoing his belt with frenzied hands. He kissed Chilton again deeply before moving down the bed, yanking the other man’s pants and briefs with him so that he was completely naked and utterly vulnerable to Will’s ministrations. Sitting on his knees between Chilton’s legs, Will looked down at him, at his flushed cheeks and slack mouth. His lips were swollen and his eyes pleading; Will felt a tightness in his chest that swelled the more he took in the sight of the man before him, overwhelmed by his beauty the way one is by a stirring and divine melody. The sound he made when Will took him in his mouth was just as gorgeous.

Will felt Chilton’s hands run through his hair as he bobbed his head up and down, massaging the head of Chilton’s cock with his tongue and taking him in further with every stroke. Chilton pushed his hips up and moaned desperately, trying to bury himself deeper into Will’s mouth. Struggling to breathe Will withdrew and ran his tongue from base to tip, swirling it around the head as he stroked the shaft steadily with a light grip. He looked back up at Chilton and smiled, enjoying how the man writhed beneath him, aching for release.

“Please,” Chilton said breathlessly, his hair sticking up at odd angles as he pushed himself up on his forearms.

Will continued to stroke him lethargically, flicking the tip of his tongue beneath the head of Chilton’s prick without breaking eye contact, forcing a strained yelp from him. “Please, what?”

“Please fuck me.”

Will let go of Chilton’s cock and dropped his head, grinning into himself. He bit his lip as he looked back up at the man, a glint in his eye. “You’re pretty when you beg, Frederick.”

Chilton let out a frustrated groan at being teased like that and became even more exasperated at how leisurely Will got off the bed to rifle through the nightstand in search of lubricant. His hair had gotten much shaggier since they first met and it concealed his eyes as they scanned the drawer. Chilton ravenously studied Will’s form as he slicked his cock generously with lube, feeling a potent masculinity in the way his wet, pink lips were juxtaposed with a sharp jaw line and how his glassy blue eyes peered through dark curls the same as a panther’s hiding behind tall grass, pinpointing the precise moment to attack.

In one swift movement, Will was back on top Chilton, kissing him fiercely and spreading his legs. Chilton whimpered at feeling the head of Will’s prick against his entrance, growing restless and desperate for the other man to push into him, but Will kept him waiting, giving him chaste kisses and running fingers through his hair. He pulled his lips away and stared into Chilton’s eyes, taken aback by how much greener they seemed, as if inspirited by passion. Chilton wouldn’t break from Will’s gaze, even as he was finally and suddenly thrust into, trying to tell Will with his eyes everything he was too scared to say out loud. _Look at me. Can you see me? Can you see that I love you? Do you see? **See**?_

Despite all of his patience and toying, Will couldn’t help but thrust frantically, setting a fast-paced rhythm that left Chilton panting and whining under him within minutes. Their mouths muffled each other’s moans as they kissed sloppily, their tongues sliding and prodding. All of the fear and doubt that plagued both men earlier had completely vanished; the shadows and the specters of dead girls and dead patients no longer existed as long as their bodies crashed and rocked into each other for fleeting moments of bliss. Chilton finally broke eye contact when his orgasm rocked through him, thick ropes of cum spilling onto his stomach as a prolonged growl escaped his lips. Will pounded relentlessly, becoming more and more erratic until he too came with a powerful groan and collapsed on top of Chilton out of breath.

They held each other silently afterwards. Chilton couldn’t bring himself to ask about why Will had forgotten to see him or if he was even conscious enough to do so. He wanted to ask about the fever and if he was going to quit working with Jack fucking Crawford once and for all, but the words kept getting caught in his throat. Will had nothing to say at all. He couldn’t figure out why he abruptly felt so empty, why the tightness in his chest turned from affection to anxiety. He held Chilton close but felt tense in his skin, distrustful of his own capabilities, terrified at the thought that any moment he could wake up in a different place or with his hands crushing Chilton’s throat again. He couldn’t place why or how this sudden shift occurred, but fear coursed through him once more.

_Aware_ is a Japanese word that has no English counterpart, but the closest translation is “the bitter sweetness of a brief and fading moment of transcendent beauty.” Despite the silence between them, both men unknowingly agreed that the feeling they shared as they drifted to sleep was of _aware_. 

“There’s very little you can do but let things unfold the way they must. It’s out of your hands now, Frederick.” Hannibal took a sip of Cuvée Jean Godet, a honey colored cognac that had notes of date, almond, and caramel as he watched flames dance and crackle in the fireplace of his office. _Le Nozze Di Figaro_ played softly and Chilton sat next to him despondently, holding his snifter with a tense grip. The closer Abel Gideon’s court date came, the more worried he grew and his anxiety had begun to reach a fever pitch. Gideon was being transferred in 24 hours.

“This might as well be a toast to the end of my career," Chilton lamented. “I am not one for physical violence, but I can’t stand looking at him or the smug faces he’ll be sure to make during the trial. It will take all of my willpower not to throw something at his head.”

“The Germans have a word that befits your exact sentiments for Dr. Gideon: _Backpfeifengesicht_.” Hannibal turned to smile at Chilton, “It translates to ‘a face badly in need of a fist.’”

Chilton laughed and shook his head. “I’m sure I have several colleagues in this city that see my face and think _backpfeifengesicht_.”

“Lucky for you, I’m not one of them,” Hannibal said jovially as he poured more cognac into their glasses.

“That certainly is a relief.” Chilton was surprised when Hannibal called him that morning to ask if he were free for a casual lunch; he couldn’t help but feel flattered, even lucky to have the admiration of the esteemed Dr. Lecter. After a brief silence, he sighed and lazily ran a finger around the rim of the glass, staring at the very center of the fire.“It seems that when it rains, it pours.”

“What else is troubling you?” Hannibal barely had to guess considering Will’s recent behavior.

“Things with Will have grown –,” he paused. “Complicated.”

“Will is a complicated man,” Hannibal said delicately. “And your relationship began during a very complicated time in his life. Both of your lives, really, in light of your troubles with Dr. Gideon.”

“I don’t have a clear idea of where things are headed, to be quite honest.”

“Nor does Will,” he remarked.

“Did he tell you that?” Chilton replied tensely, the pitch in his voice just slightly higher from sudden nervousness.

“Not outright, no. It’s only my professional opinion.” Hannibal cocked his head, searching for precisely the right words to plant the seeds of suspicion. “He worries he’s becoming someone else, someone closer to the people Jack Crawford has him seeking out.”

“He's never going to quit, is he?” Chilton said quietly. Hannibal shook his head. “I would have preferred to hear that from him, but thank you for confirming it nonetheless. He skirts around the subject anytime I bring it up.”

“Don’t take it to heart, Frederick. I’m sure there are things that Will tells you but not me.” Hannibal gave Chilton a knowing glance. “Relationships come with challenges much different than those of a solitary life.”

“I suppose you’re right. I’m plenty familiar with the solitary life,” professed Chilton, much more melancholy than he intended.

“I can only speak for myself and my observations, but I’ve met many people within our field that lean toward the solitary life. Psychiatrists tend to think too much, don’t we?” he said somewhat cheerfully, as if to offset Chilton’s gloom. “It’s curious that Will has gravitated to so many of us lately, considering how long he’s spent keeping psychiatrists at arms length. He isn’t fond of the chatter that surrounds him.”

“Well, technically Jack Crawford pushed him your way, but you two have certainly surpassed a doctor/patient relationship.” Chilton smiled into his snifter as he took a final sip. “I’m still dumbfounded at times that we became – uh, involved at all. He certainly wasn’t enamored of me when we first met. He appeared to be much chummier with Dr. Bloom.”

“Ah, yes, Alana. It seems she squandered her opportunity, didn’t she?” Hannibal inwardly commended himself for steering Chilton to the subject of Alana Bloom. It takes a certain amount of finesse to manipulate another person so subtly. 

“How so? What opportunity?” Chilton furrowed his brow.

“Oh, excuse me, I thought you were aware of Will and Alana’s near-romance,” Hannibal said nonchalantly. “He was smitten with her for a short while.”

“Oh.” Chilton shifted uncomfortably. He was torn between fishing for more information and keeping such a Pandora’s Box closed. Yes, Will was with him, but it took just the smallest amount of jealousy for Chilton’s ego to crack, leaving him to wallow in his insecurities. “How near was this romance, Hannibal?”

“Frederick, there’s no need to get jealous,” he replied, smirking ever so slightly. “Especially over a kiss. Will is with you.”

Chilton inhaled sharply and flared his nostrils. “Yes, of – of course. You’re right, he’s with me.”

“Don’t worry, Frederick! Driving yourself crazy over something so trivial does you no favors.” Hannibal watched Chilton’s face redden from either embarrassment or indignation, or perhaps both. It didn't take long for Chilton to withdraw and thank his host for a delightful lunch, wearing his heart so noticeably on his sleeve that Hannibal could practically cut it right off of him and devour it raw. With a cruel blow, another piece came crashing down, an important one at that. Perhaps a rook or bishop, a piece that takes careful plotting to knock down. The crackling of the fire was reminiscent of sparks surging off the hot edge of a razor being sharpened and Hannibal closed his eyes to take in its warmth. Quietly, a mezzo-soprano’s voice sweetly glided through the air: _Ch'ora e diletto, ch'ora e martir. Gelo e poi sento l'alma avvampar, e in un momento torno a gelar._

Chilton grit his teeth as he drove home. It was silly to have gotten so jealous over such a trifling matter, but he couldn’t help feeling a searing hot hatred for Alana Bloom. It was bad enough she had mocked him in the past for his mishandling of Abel Gideon’s persona, both at his hospital and in front of Hannibal Lecter, but now Chilton would always see her as some sort of competition whether he wanted to or not. She certainly was the better choice in Chilton’s mind: Beautiful, smart, accomplished, and emphatically not an embarrassment to her profession. She probably had more to offer in the long run; he and Will never talked about their future. Their present was complicated enough as it was without discussing if they should consolidate their belongings into one residence or where they saw themselves in five years. Additionally, the small detail that Will took up with Chilton just when he also happened to be losing his mind was difficult to ignore. What if he suddenly snapped out of it and realized what a fool he’d been for shacking up with Frederick Chilton of all people.

Chilton was so distracted by worry that he almost didn’t see that his front door was wide open when he pulled up to his home. There was no car in the driveway and he had been so blinded by fury that he didn’t notice a familiar vehicle parked only a couple hundred feet before the turn onto his property. He was careful not to shut his car door too loudly and tread softly to his garage, creaking the door open to grab a nine iron from a nearby golf bag. Cautiously he made his way through the front door, trying to control his breathing and listening as closely as he could over the drumming of his own pulse. Nothing was out of place, nothing broken or burgled. He crept around a corner to survey his kitchen and startled when he saw Will sitting at the table, very still and with his back to him.

“Jesus Christ, Will. You scared the shit out of me!” Chilton spat. “And you left the front door open, you asshole.”

He put down the golf club and walked towards Will, inhaling deeply to steady his heartbeat. The sudden burst of relief elevated Chilton’s mood immediately and he couldn’t help but make a sarcastic remark as small payback. “It would have been nice if you told me you were coming over too. Unless this is your idea of romantic surprise, in which case you utterly fai –“

His words stopped short when he saw the other man's visage: Will stared ahead blankly, not registering Chilton’s presence at all, as if he were completely catatonic. A chill ran up Chilton's spine, a sense of unease washing over him at how odd the scene was.

“Will?” He drew closer, noticing a shiny film of sweat on Will’s face, which looked waxy and gaunt. Chilton could almost feel the heat radiating off of him and he knew immediately something was gravely wrong. “Will? Are you okay?”

He reached a hand down to Will’s shoulder, his touch prompting Will to turn his head to look up at him. His eyes grew wide with fear and he shot up from his seat, backing away forcefully. The clatter of steel framed chairs being knocked over echoed loudly throughout the spacious house and Chilton nearly fell over trying to back away from the sudden outburst. He fumbled through his pockets to find his phone, unsure if he was going to call 911, Hannibal, or Jack Crawford. All he knew was that Will wasn’t right and needed help.

But within a matter of seconds, Will had Chilton pinned against the wall, hands wrapped around his throat. Chilton tried to scream, but the grip around his neck was too strong and he quickly became lightheaded. What was most terrifying was how empty Will looked, how cold and glazed his eyes were. Adrenaline coursed through Chilton’s bloodstream and with one final burst of strength, he managed to push Will off, sending him crashing against the granite countertop behind him with great force that would have incapacitated him had he known where he was and what he was doing. Scrambling, Chilton ran out of the kitchen breathless. He locked himself in the bathroom and listened intently, anticipating Will’s footsteps and likely counter attack. Once again, he frantically searched his pockets, realizing that his phone fell out during the struggle and he prayed to whatever god he didn’t even believe in that he wouldn’t be killed at the hands of his lover. Minutes later he heard a loud thump and plucked up the courage to open the door.

Will lay slumped in the hallway facedown and Chilton stared at him long enough to feel safe that he wasn’t going to attack again. Slowly he kneeled down and turned Will over, lightly shaking him and calling his name. Finally, Will came to.

“Fr – Frederick?” Will whispered. “What – where am I?”

“You’re in my house, Will. You broke in.” Chilton said steadily, trying to control the quiver in his voice.

“No. But,” stammered Will. “But I was just in my house. I was just there!”

“Will, you broke into my house and attacked me.” Tears began to brim in Chilton’s eyes as he watched Will shake his head and tremble, a terrible anguish painting his face. “I think you need to go to the emergency room.”

“No.”

“Yes, Will,” he insisted.

“No, I need to leave. I need to go home. I can’t be here.” Will grew increasingly agitated and began to stand up, trying to push Chilton off of him.

“But you’re sick,” Chilton cried. He wanted to stop him from leaving, but he was terrified that Will would hurt him again. “There’s something horribly wrong with you! Please, let me take you to the hospital. Please!”

Will grabbed Chilton’s shoulder and pushed back hard, causing Chilton to lose balance and fall over. He yelped loudly when he broke his fall with his hand, immediately spraining his wrist with a jolting sharp pain. He stayed on the ground nursing his injury, tears streaming down his face as he watched Will dart out the front door without saying another word or even acknowledging his existence. He shouted Will’s name until the man’s silhouette had completely disappeared and his throat was raw. Chilton felt completely shattered, an overwhelming tension swelling in his chest and his stomach dropped as if he was diving into a great, Stygian void.

There is a Czech word that author Milan Kundera found himself unable to translate into English when he wrote _The Book of Laughter and Forgetting_. He defined it as “a state of torment created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery.” As Frederick Chilton lie huddled on the ground with a damp cheek pressed against the cold floor, the wretched weight of _lítost_ came crashing down on him until he felt as if he had turned to stone.


	14. Evie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abel Gideon exacts his revenge on Chilton. The final chapter unfolds.

Abel Gideon was careful to stay parked far enough away from The Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally Insane to not be spotted. He had washed nearly all the blood from his body with fresh snow and had the foresight to remove a coat from one of the three men he killed an hour previous so that the crimson stains that seeped into his clothes were easily hidden. He snatched up some credit cards and a driver’s license for good measure. Stealing a car proved much easier than he imagined, being lucky enough to stumble upon an unlocked vehicle after having made his way to the other side of the small patch of woods where he left a gorgeous tableau of hearts and sinew, arteries and intestines, all for the FBI. All for Frederick Chilton, really, whom he watched rush out the door of his hospital, the sinister kingdom he ruled with an incompetent hand, to his flashy red car. _Good thing you have such gaudy taste, Frederick. I’d be able to pick you out all the way from Rhode Island._

Gideon was cautious as he drove, obeying the speed limit, making full stops at stop signs, and all the while keeping a keen eye on Chilton’s car. The other man attempted to speed and weave through traffic, but it was rush hour and as hard as he attempted to flee from his own hospital, he inched over asphalt like a wounded soldier trying to claw and crawl away from enemy lines so he could die with his countrymen. Gideon remained a few cars behind at all times, taking extra precaution despite wearing a knit hat and a pair of sunglasses he found on the front seat. He doubted Chilton would be paying too much attention to his surroundings considering that the very dangerous murderer Abel Gideon was now at large and possibly looking for him. For once Chilton wasn’t being paranoid.

Gideon cruised past Chilton’s driveway as the man turned sharply onto it and disappeared behind a line of trees. His property was secluded enough so that they wouldn’t be bothered when the time came, but close enough to the main roads that it would be easy to find. Gideon memorized the address as he leisurely drove away.

Patapsco Valley State Park isn’t very crowded in the winter. About 20 minutes from Baltimore, it’s outfitted with picnic tables, a nature center, several hiking trails, and six cabins. The chances that all of them would be occupied at this time of the year were slim and if that were the case, Gideon would have to settle for Chilton’s house; it would be precarious to do his preparations and keep Chilton captive overnight on his own property, a spacious one at that, but if it were necessary then that’s the way the cookie crumbled. Gideon may be a meticulous man, but he didn’t want to risk Chilton getting free somehow and calling the cops. He’d have to kill him on the spot and that wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying. He had a much more specific method of torture awaiting his once psychiatrist, who was instrumental in helping him finally meet the true Chesapeake Ripper, the man Chilton made him believe he was.

Yes, Gideon could have waited for the trial. Yes, he could have given his testimony, let his lawyer work his magic, and watched Dr. Frederick Chilton be publicly humiliated and booted from his own hospital, but Gideon was far too angry and spiteful for that. He had never felt more in control and powerful than when he believed, no, knew he was the Ripper. He remembered how good it felt when he drove metal tools and pointed instruments into the man, the wounded man. And he felt that high all over again when he did the same thing to the night nurse. But why? What was it about that man and his Bible that required the use of his tongue as a bookmark? Why did he only kill three people at a time and then stay silent for months, even years? What did he do with Miriam Lass?

Slowly but surely, after having killed the nurse, Gideon realized he wasn’t the Chesapeake Ripper at all. The power, the glee, all of the recognition was not his and it was a devastating blow. Who was he then? He was who Dr. Frederick Chilton told him he was and he would never forget that. Chilton got inside his mind and moved all the furniture around, painting the walls a different color (at least the ones he hadn’t knocked down haphazardly). The worst part of it was that he didn’t show a modicum of remorse. Of course, Chilton was too proud and too cowardly to admit that he was wrong in the first place, but it infuriated and haunted Gideon that he wasn’t even considered enough of a person to be deemed worthy of some semblance of compassion, after having the machinations of his brain manipulated like warm taffy. Gideon knew what he’d done, how monstrous he was for butchering his wife and her family, and he knew how easy it was for others to forget that someone like him was capable of feeling like their spirit, their whole being could be shattered by the careless and cruel calculations of a power hungry man. A little humility would have been appreciated. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so compelled to leave the Ripper such a bloody present.

“Do your cabins have phones?” Gideon asked the woman behind the front desk of the state park’s main office. “I’ve misplaced my own; terrible timing while on a trip, don’t you think?”

“I suppose it is, Mr. Leeds.” The woman smiled at Gideon, who had spent a few minutes laying on some thick charm. “And yes, there’s a phone in your cabin.”

“Perfect. It wouldn’t have been too much of an inconvenience, now that I think about it; I’m the kind of writer that likes to stay holed up alone until I’ve produced something I don’t want to set on fire.”

The woman giggled and gave Gideon the key as he leaned forward on the desk. “Say, love. What’s your name?”

“Rebecca.”

“Beautiful,” he smiled. “Maybe I’ll name a character after you.”

With that, Gideon winked and sauntered out the front door. He turned the ignition of his stolen jeep and drove a short distance to the small, secluded cabin. After getting settled, he picked up the phone and dialed 411, waiting patiently as his call was connected to the desired location.

“Baltimore Tattler, this is Linda. How may I help you?”

“Hello, Linda. I’m trying to reach Freddie Lounds. She works in crime.”

“Oh. Um, she doesn’t come into the office very often. She mostly works at home because Tattle Crime isn’t a print –“

“Oh, dear. Well, Linda, I don’t suppose you could give me her number? This Dr. Paul Caruthers and I think she’d be very interested in some information I have about Abel Gideon.” Gideon picked at his cuticles as he listened to the young woman shuffle around.

“I can give you an email address. I’m not really supposed to give out any personal numbers, but I could connect you to her voicemail. She checks it pretty regular –“

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Dr. Gideon has escaped from prison and I need to talk to Miss Lounds sooner rather than later. Be a dear. I promise I won’t tell.”

“Um, I’m just an intern and I don’t want to get in trouble.” The woman sighed and paused. “You said he’s escaped, huh?”

“Yes, it’s quite the event. Why don’t you just scroll through your Rolodex or computer or whatever. I’ll dance at your wedding if you’ll let me have it.”

“Well, I’m sure Freddie wouldn’t mind now that I think about it.”

“Yes, she’ll be delighted to hear from me.” She recited the number in a whisper as Gideon jotted it down. “You’re an angel, Linda. And if you see her tomorrow morning at all, just let her know she should expect my call sometime in the afternoon.”

“Okay.”

“Wonderful. Have a lovely day, Linda.”

“Thanks, you too doctor.”

After hanging up, Gideon brought a medical supply box to the bathroom for sterilization. He felt very blessed to have found a small locker stocked with first aid goodies in his transport between the cab and the back where he’d killed two men with relative ease. Gideon was good at improvising and the little crate of surgical instruments, vials of painkillers, and disinfectant wipes would make due. It would have been a long shot to find a pair of scrubs, but Gideon figured he could procure some in Dr. Caruthers’ office and hopefully some more comprehensive supplies for the following night’s procedure. He very much wanted to look the part when the time came to slice Frederick Chilton wide open. After cleaning up and taking a shower, Gideon looked at the clock, which read 8:30. It was time.

Dr. Frederick Chilton didn’t know what to do with the rest of his night. Abel Gideon was free and who the hell knew what he was up to; he’d escaped hours ago, which gave Chilton some peace of mind because chances were he was out of the state by then. Still, he set the alarm the moment he got home and put on House Hunters International until his anxiety subsided somewhat. His first instinct was to call Will, but after what happened day before, he didn’t think he could handle any more stress than he was already under at the moment.

He thought about cooking a nice, homey meal but he had no appetite. The TV flickered in the dark of his living room, but he could barely pay attention, giving no thought to how the people on the show picked the wrong houses to buy like he usually did. How he wished he were in some foreign land, far away from Abel Gideon. Mindlessly scrolling through his iPad, he briefly considered buying a one-way ticket to Peru, but he quashed the idea as soon as he thought of anyone else running his hospital, especially when Abel Gideon, the man whose brains he scrambled with a muddy stick, was on the lam. _This is all my fault._

His eyes grew heavy with welcome fatigue as he desperately hoped for a dreamless sleep.

A piercing ringing roused him a couple hours later and he shot up from the couch, immediately running to the foyer without a second thought. If he were anything but panicked, he would have realized what a foolish mistake it was to run towards the front door, a likely place for an intruder to have entered.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. Abel Gideon was standing at the threshold, bundled up in a lumpy, army green coat.

“Hello, Frederick,” he replied loudly over the bleating alarm as he saw Chilton pull out his phone. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Chilton froze before managing to dial 911, as he saw the glint of a large hunting knife Gideon held with a strong grip. He began to step back in an effort to run, but he was so overtaken by fear that he forgot about the brief case he’d carelessly dropped on the floor as soon as he got home. He fell backwards hard, breaking his fall with a wrist that was still delicate from his altercation with Will. Gideon was on top of him in the blink of an eye, holding the knife to his neck.

“Please,” Chilton pleaded. “Please don’t kill me!”

“You wouldn’t expect any less from the Chesapeake Ripper, would you?” he answered quietly, almost intimately. “But I have no plans to kill you. For now.”

Just then, Chilton’s cell phone rang. Gideon snatched it up and scanned the screen. “It’s the security company. Pick it up and tell them a lie or I’ll slit your throat.”

He nodded and brought the phone his ear. “Hello? Yes. This is Dr. Chilton…no, no, you don’t have to send the police…I um, a, I’m having a friend stay over and I forgot to disable the alarm for her. I just got home and she’s having a panic attack over it and the keypad is all the way in the kitch –…yes, please. Thank you.”

The alarm stopped ringing and Chilton’s eyes grew wide with fear. There was no one to save him now.

“Way to think on your feet, Frederick. Or on your back, if we want to be more accurate,” said Gideon as he rolled off Chilton and yanked him up by the lapels of his blazer. The man was surprisingly strong. “Nice little story you told.”

Gideon spun Chilton around and held the knife to his neck from behind with one hand while the other snaked into his jacket to pull out a length of rope. Adroitly, he wrapped the knife-wielding arm around Chilton’s neck and squeezed hard, incapacitating him, but giving him enough leeway to take in shallow breaths. He kicked Chilton’s heels and dragged him to the living room, throwing him face down on the couch and straddling his lower back. Chilton yelped upon release, tears rolling down his cheeks from being restrained so severely.

“Alright, Frederick. I’m just going to tie you up real quick and then we’ll be on our merry way.”

“Where are you taking me?” he choked out as the tender skin of his wrists burned from rough rope pulling harshly around them; his back and shoulders ached.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” Gideon swung off the couch and began tying Chilton’s feet together tightly. “But it’s a charming little place, really.”

“Whatever it is you’re planning, please don’t make me suffer. Please. Just get it over with quickly.”

“Where’s the fun in that? You know first hand how artistic I am in my killings and I am going to make a gorgeous spectacle of you. People will say it’s the Chesapeake Ripper’s finest work.” Gideon replied dryly. He pulled out a syringe filled with morphine. “Time to go to sleep, Frederick.”

Chilton felt the sting of a needle in his neck and moments later he nodded off. Gideon pulled him off the couch with a thud and dragged him to the front door, lifting him up and over his shoulder. He shut it quietly behind him as he made his way to the car, popping open the back door and tossing Chilton in like a rag doll.

He didn’t even bother gagging the limp man considering the cabin was secluded enough that no one would hear him scream anyway. He grinned as he pulled up to the park entrance.

Freddie Lounds was astonished to hear that Abel Gideon had escaped custody, but the cunning journalist in her was thrilled. She parked her car in the Baltimore Tattler parking lot to pick up a pricey external hard drive she was too cautious to travel with; it held the most delicate and valuable information she’d gathered in her years at Tattle Crime.

“Hello, Linda,” she said nonchalantly as she strolled past the front desk, flashing a quick smile at the receptionist.

“Oh, hi Miss Lounds!” the young woman replied enthusiastically. Her crush on Freddie Lounds was obvious and although it wasn’t reciprocated, Lounds’ loved the ego boost nonetheless.

“Linda, how many times do I have to tell you? Call me Freddie.” Lounds flashed a devilish smile.

“Right. Sorry Freddie,” she blushed as Lounds began to skate by. “Oh, wait. Um, someone called for you yesterday.”

“And who would that somebody be?” she inquired.

“This doctor. Um, hold on, I wrote it down.” She shuffled through her desk drawer and pulled out a Post-It. “Dr. Paul Caruthers.”

She leaned in, arching her eyebrow with great interest. “Really? Dr. Caruthers? Did he leave a number?”

“No, he said he was in a hurry, but, um –“ Linda looked down at her desk, shifting her eyes with guilt.

“Out with it, Linda."

“Please don’t get mad at me,” she begged. “I gave him your number. He was in a hurry and said he’d call you this afternoon to talk to you about Abel Gideon.”

“Oh, really?” Lounds said with a smile. “And he didn’t leave a number?”

“No, I forgot to ask. I’m so sorry!”

“Linda, it’s okay. I’m very interested in Abel Gideon’s escape, so you ended up doing me a favor.”

The woman let out a sigh of relief and leaned forward, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. “And you’re not going to tell anyone that I gave your number to a stranger?”

“Mum’s the word.”

After collecting her valuables, Lounds walked briskly to her car, the bitter chill of winter air burning her fair skin. As she sat behind the steering wheel, her phone rang from a restricted number. _Perfect timing,_ she thought as she answered.

“Freddie Lounds.”

“My name is Dr. Paul Caruthers. I’m a psychiatrist. I read your article on Abel Gideon.”

“And I yours Dr. Caruthers,” she replied with great interest.

“So you’re aware of my work,” the voice said humbly.

Lounds had to contain her excitement at having such a respected psychiatrist complement her work, work many people brushed off as tabloid twaddle. “I found your paper on Narcissistic Personality Disorder insightful. Especially as it pertains to your opinions of Abel Gideon.”

“Well thank you. It’s very kind of you.”

“You’re calling about his escape?” she said as she leaned back, chomping at the bit to see what Caruthers’ angle was.

“Well, yes. I’d like to collaborate on an article I’m writing for the Journal of Abnormal Psychology.”

“You want a writing partner.”

“Could we meet?”

Lounds paused, trying to collect her thoughts so as not to sound too eager. “I would be interested in your proposal. Where?”

“My office. I’ll text you the address and phone number immediately.”

“Okay. That sounds great,” Lounds answered placidly.

“Oh, and call me when you get here. My office closes at 4:00 on Fridays, so there won’t be anyone to let you in.”

_Linda, I am going to break your fucking neck_ , Freddie Lounds thought as she sat in the passenger seat of a stolen jeep driven by none other than Abel Gideon. The image of Dr. Caruthers with his tongue pulled out of his slit throat was still swimming around her mind while she stared forward, listening to Gideon chatter on about his day as if he hadn’t just killed a man.

On her drive to Caruthers’ office, Lounds was ecstatic; the idea that her name would be published in such a respected journal excited her beyond belief. As much as she enjoyed her work with the Tattler, she worried that she would never be respected the way she truly deserved. She was a damn good journalist and a talented writer at that but she was mocked (mostly by her male counterparts) as being a ruthless bitch that wrote trashy gossip and deserved little regard. If any of them had bothered to read her more intellectual pieces, they would have recognized her talent. But no, she was just another manipulative nobody that used dubious tactics to get the scoop, the same exact tactics all of her male colleagues used. Now that she was being given a chance to work with a highly respected doctor, all the hateful hypocrites would be forced to grovel at her feet for absolution.

Those dreams were dashed to bits when she walked into Dr. Paul Caruthers’s office to find him brutally murdered with Abel Gideon standing by gleefully. He easily restrained her before she could run away and tied her to a chair, but freed her soon thereafter; Lounds promised calmly that she wouldn’t run away. It would be too good a story to miss out on. Of course, she was terrified, but she knew bonding with her captor would keep her alive a lot longer than trying to flee.

“Dr. Gideon, where are we going?”

“I’m sure you’re familiar with that lovely little observatory up on the hill. The one with the blue door.” Gideon turned on the radio and quietly sang along to _Sitting on the Dock of the Bay_ by Otis Redding. “I haven’t heard this song in years.”

“And what are we going to be doing at the observatory?”

“Ah, of course! I forgot to mention we have another passenger.” He motioned to the far back of the vehicle. Lounds could only make out a pair of feet tied at the ankles. “You’re familiar with Dr. Chilton.”

Lounds gulped. If Dr. Caruthers only got a Columbian necktie, she couldn’t imagine what Dr. Chilton was fated for. “Yes. We’ve met before.”

“While I do enjoy your company, I did have ulterior motives in bringing you along with me.”

“And what would those motives be?”

“Well, Santa needs a little helper for this evening’s procedure. Things are going to get a little messy and I need a trustworthy nurse to assist me. Plus, we’re going to do a little more writing together. I need to use your expertise for an important article.”

Lounds’ stomach dropped. “Well, I’ll try my best to be a good assistant and you know I can write a damn good article.”

Gideon turned and smiled at her.

“Do me a quick favor and go see if the place is empty.”

Gideon and Lounds had arrived at the observatory, the sun just beginning to set behind it. She got out and made her way to the door, pulling it open slowly and peeking her head inside.

“Hello?” Her voice echoed throughout the cavernous room. “Anyone here?”

She waited a few seconds and was met with silence. Turning around, she shouted at Gideon that the coast was clear.

“Come back. I need your help.” Gideon grunted as he threw Chilton, who was unconscious, over his shoulder. “There’s some medical equipment in the backseat. Oh, and grab your laptop.”

She furrowed her brows in exasperation when she saw how heavy some of the devices looked, but she tried her best to bring as many of them up to the observatory without slipping down the stairs. The last thing she needed was painful bumps and bruises all over her tiny frame.

After setting up all the equipment and hurling Chilton on the table where he would soon be sliced open, Gideon found a chair and small desk for Lounds to set up a makeshift workstation. When she was all settled, Gideon took on a much darker tone, revealing the side of him that was the man who butchered his wife. She became visibly scared despite her efforts to remain calm. He may have assured her that his only intentions were to torture Dr. Chilton, yet she couldn’t help but wonder what her fate would be when he was through. Whatever story she was about to publish would benefit Gideon somehow and after that, perhaps she’d be just as disposable as Dr. Caruthers.

“You might be working out the emergency exits or at least considering them. Let me just tell you, there are three. They’re all terribly locked down.” Gideon squat down in front of her and the article she was already assembling on her Tattle Crime’s layout. “Now, this relationship between you and me, this could do us both some good.”

“I can write a big story on you. Anything you want to say.” Lounds had turned on her journalistic charm just as Gideon took on his sinister air.

She listened intently, scolding herself for a moment as she made a pithy remark about whether or not he was the Chesapeake Ripper. As Gideon reflected on how blurred his memories had become, how unsure of he was of his own identity, and his plan to flush out the true Chesapeake Ripper, Lounds began typing rapidly, obediently taking down everything he said. She still couldn’t trust him, but if Gideon followed through on his promises, she’d be happy as hell to have written such an exclusive exposé. She was always a journalist first and foremost.

She continued to type furiously, recording Gideon’s dictations while he prepared for surgery. He meticulously set out sterile instruments, covered Chilton with a surgical drape, strapped him down to the operating table, and positioned a large lamp just right to make sure Chilton’s insides were always properly lit. Lounds jumped in her seat when she heard a faint moan from nearby. Dr. Chilton was finally coming to.

“Are you finished with that exposé, Miss Lounds?” Gideon said from behind the operating table. Chilton was still out of it from the steady administering of morphine Gideon had been shooting into his bloodstream all day.

“Yes,” she said confidently. “Proofread and everything.”

“Wonderful. Why don’t you press “Publish” and come on over here.”

Lounds complied, her heart pounding her chest. No matter how much she tried to prepare herself for what was about to happen, she couldn’t control the nausea that overcame her.

“With experience,” Gideon announced while rubbing his hands together with an ample amount of sanitizer. “I have found surgeries are best performed under local anesthetic or epidural, with the patient awake. Reminds me there’s a real person here entrusting me with their life rather than a lump of meat that I’m about to reorganize.”

Lounds gulped at the sight of Chilton helplessly taking in his surroundings. Gideon continued, looking right at Chilton’s nodding head. “And in this instance, I would like to see the look on your face.”

“Please,” Chilton whispered helplessly. The last thing he remembered was Gideon saying something about being the Ripper. “You’re not the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“You got inside my mind, Frederick. It is only fair I get inside your belly.”

It felt like Chilton’s heart was thumping against his ribcage; the flash of a scalpel made his eyes widen in terror. He wrenched them shut while Gideon introduced Freddie Lounds as his assistant and then drew the sharp instrument down his stomach from sternum to belly button, as if through whipped butter. Gideon inserted a surgical retractor to widen the incision, giving him space to root around Chilton’s inside with his hands.

“The real Chesapeake Ripper is a collector of surgical trophies. I’m gonna leave him a little gift,” he continued without any regard to Chilton’s desperate whimpers. “In fact, I’m going to leave him a gift basket.”

Lounds’ stomach lurched as she watched Gideon remove a kidney and slide it into a metal bowl. She breathed through her nostrils, struggling not to panic or be sick.

Chilton stared up at Gideon who was pulling a length of shiny pink intestines out of his abdomen, carefully and with finesse. He could feel sticky warm blood cooling and congealing on his cheek where Gideon had smacked him to keep him from passing out. The edges of his vision became blurry and the lamp behind his unwelcome surgeon grew brighter, enveloping him in shadows while Lounds’ red curls became undefined and cloud like.

“How much do you intend to take out, Dr. Gideon?” she said calmly. Despite her tone, Gideon could feel how potent her fear was.

“Just enough, Miss Lounds,” he replied flatly. “Just enough.”

“So you’re not going to kill him then?”

“Not anytime soon. I can’t speak to how long he’ll last after I leave, but I’m hoping he’ll make it through the night.”

Gideon paused and looked down at Chilton, whose eyes were just beginning to roll back into his head. “Frederick, stay with us please.”

“I –I –I” Chilton gasped. “I can’t. Just let me –“

“No, Frederick, you’re going to stay awake so you know exactly what’s happening to you,” he leaned closer to Chilton’s face. “Something you could have afforded me. But, c’est la vie. Miss Lounds, could you please hand me that clamp right there.”

Lounds gave him the metal instrument, looking down at Chilton sympathetically. She had never liked him in the past; she thought he was smarmy and woeful, but this…this was too great a punishment, even for someone as destructive and feckless as he.

“You’re looking a little pale. Having a hard time stomaching the procedure?” Gideon smirked at Lounds, who squinted her eyes at such a blithe comment. “Alright, Frederick. Pay attention.”

Chilton looked up, his breath slowing down. He could only let out the smallest whimper when he saw Will Graham staring back down at him. He wanted to scream but his body was growing cold and he could speak not one word of the hundreds that were running through his mind.

“I’ve just shortened your bowel,” Will said quietly, almost benevolently. “I’m going to sew a few things up and then we’ll move onto the next thing.”

“How much more?” Chilton heard a second voice, but instead of seeing Freddie Lounds, it was Charles Lin with a pleading look on his face.

“Hush,” Will waved his hand at Lin flippantly. “Did you know that the liver has the ability to regenerate?”

“Yes, Will. I did,” Lin pushed out. He was on the verge of tears. “Please don’t do this. You’re killing him!”

“Well, that’s sort of the point.” Will surveyed Chilton’s face with a steely gaze. “I’ve been wanting to kill you for a very long time, Frederick. I’m going to relish every minute of this. Charles?”

“Yes?” he whispered.

“Don’t fret. You’re going to stay with him, okay? You’re going to take care of him, keep him breathing. See that contraption over there?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a bag valve mask. It’s very easy to operate. When Frederick here can’t breathe on his own, you’ll put it over his mouth and squeeze that little doohickey until Jack Crawford and his cronies get here. Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good!” Will said cheerfully. “So, back to the liver. I’m going to remove a good chunk of it. It’ll grow back eventually. If you’re around long enough for that, of course.”

“Wi –“ Chilton tried to choke out. “Wi –“

“Wh – wh – what, Frederick?” Will mocked.

“Will, don’t. You’re being cruel. He’s trying to talk to you. He wants to tell you something.”

“Are you trying to tell me something, Frederick?”

Chilton grew more and more lightheaded and fearful of the man in front of him, but he needed to make a last confession. He didn’t want to die without saying it. “I – I”

“Out with it, please. I have important things to attend to.”

“I forgive you,” he whispered.

“What?” Will said confusedly. “You forgive me?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious what he’s forgiving you for, Will.” Lin rested a hand on Chilton’s cheek and stroked it with his thumb. “Look at what you’re doing to him!”

Chilton was on the very edge of going unconscious. The light behind Lin and Will was blinding, making them look like they were being engulfed in white flames. “I love you.”

Gideon furrowed his brow and turned to Lounds, his hands still wrist deep in Chilton’s insides. “Did he just tell me he loved me?”

“That’s what it sounded like to me, Doctor.” Lounds shifted in her seat, as she grew restless. She was having a harder and harder time watching Gideon tear such a helpless and pitiful man apart like that. “Are you almost finished?”

“You’re just full of questions tonight, aren’t you?” Gideon chuckled. “Alright, grab that mask. Time for you to do something besides question my judgment and hand me shiny objects.”

Chilton blinked his eyes open. Everything was bright and he felt a breeze on his warm skin. The more he blinked, the more everything came into focus and he quickly realized where he was. He hadn’t stood on the Outer Banks’ Kitty Hawk Pier in over 25 years, but there he was at the very end of it, seagulls gliding above him, the ocean’s waves lapping at the wooden posts that held it up. The air was thick with the smell of salt water and the sky a bright cerulean. Although it was daytime, the moon hung low in the firmament, monumentally huge and close enough that Chilton was sure he could touch it. Slowly, the pier began to rise and he looked over the railing to see the ocean become perfectly still, save for large bursts of flowers blooming from the surface, which had turned a translucent pink. Sunflowers, roses, calla lilies, daffodils, and tulips of hundreds of different colors blossomed rapidly until the entire sea was a bouquet of giant flowers.

“Dr. Chilton.”

He whipped his head towards the voice behind him and saw Alana Bloom smiling back at him, wearing a thin floral dress and standing barefoot on the weather beaten wood the pier was made of. “What are you doing here?”

She laughed warmly. “I don’t know!”

Chilton laughed and walked toward her. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I didn’t. But I wanted to let you know that I’ve changed my mind.” She pulled her hair to one side so that her pale neck and soft shoulder glistened in the sun. “And I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me? For what?”

“You made Will happy.” She came forward and embraced him tightly. “He deserved so much more than what has happened to him.”

“What’s happened to him?” Chilton said panicked.

“Oh, now’s not the time, Dr. Chilton. Just be happy that you and Will had something special, even if it was short lived.” Alana pulled back and cupped his face softly. She wore a warm expression and her eyes were just as blue as the sky behind her. “It was certainly a lot less short lived than what I got.”

“Is it over, then?”

“Yes, Frederick. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry there was no one there to protect you.” Her bright blue eyes reflected the sun and she placed a small kiss on his cheek. “But you’re going to get to see a lot of people soon, people you love. It’s going to be lovely and there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t understand,” he muttered. “Am I –“

Alana pulled him even closer. “Just close your eyes.”

“Okay.” Chilton squeezed his eyes shut, still trying to wrap his head around the situation. “So, I’m dead then.”

“Shh,” she replied as she rocked him back and forth. “Almost.”

Chilton kept his eyes shut until he heard a faraway melody. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in the hallway on the second floor of his childhood home, right outside his bedroom door. He heard the soft murmur of chatter and pleasant piano music drifting up from below. Walking down the hall, he looked at pictures hanging on the walls. At first he paid little attention to them, assuming they were the same photographs and stills that always hung there. Instead of graduation photos and amateur sketches his sister drew, he saw small, dark rooms that had faceless people wandering around aimlessly, bumping into each other until they grew angry and began to rip each other apart. Growing scared, Chilton hurried down the hall towards the noise, the familiar feeling of being chased by invisible monsters making his chest grow tight.

“You’re so ridiculous, Fred. There aren’t any monsters! Sheesh!”

Chilton’s older sister watched him from the top of the stairs at the end of the hall, her arms crossed while rolling her eyes. She was lanky and looked awkward in her body, smack in the middle of a growth spurt at 13.

“I know, Katherine,” Chilton replied with a huff. “I was thinking about something else that scared –“

“Yeah, whatever, dingus. You’re 11. You shouldn’t be afraid of monsters anymore.” Katherine unfolded her pale arms and sat on the stairs, absentmindedly playing with her long auburn hair. “Mom’s singing soon.”

Chilton heard the clinking of a glass and his father’s voice shushing the dozens of party guests in their spacious living room. Others were dispersed around the several open rooms of the first floor, but they quickly joined the rest as Mr. Chilton addressed them all. It was a very formal affair; Mr. Chilton was in a pricey suit and his mother wore a long satin gown. Its bright red shade complimented tan skin and her fine, dark hair was pulled back into a low bun. The gown’s sweetheart neckline made room for a stunning yellow diamond and garnet necklace that sparkled in the warm light of the room. She looked like she had a glow surrounding her face, as if an old Hollywood director had veiled her with a soft focus like the great romantic leading ladies. Greta Garbo, Bettie Davis, Ingrid Bergman, Grace Kelly…Sofia Chilton.

Chilton sat next to his sister and watched the scene from above. His mother laughed at an inaudible comment, a melody in her voice even before singing a single note. He grinned, always overjoyed by the sound of his mother’s laugh. The only person whose laugh he cherished more was –

“Freddy!” his younger sister said giddily as she sat next to him and hugged him tightly.

“Shut up, Evie! They think we’re in bed.” Katherine hissed.

“Don’t be a jerk, Katherine,” Chilton said, elbowing her. “Forget about that Ev, they didn’t hear us.”

Evie climbed onto Chilton’s lap, still small enough to do so without blocking his view or making his legs go numb. “I know. Don’t worry, Freddy. Katherine doesn’t bother me. And mommy’s going to sing! I can’t be mad when mommy sings.”

Chilton squeezed her tight as the delicate chords of the piano’s first notes floated through the air. Being a singer with the Washington National Opera meant that Mrs. Chilton often threw fabulous parties for patrons of the DC arts community, which always gave her an opportunity to perform for her imploring guests. She did so every time and though she was quite acclaimed, she was still humble and even a little bashful when singing at parties. It was one thing to perform in front of a large and hard to see audience, but to sing in front of friends in a much smaller venue was somehow more intimidating. To calm her nerves, Mrs. Chilton always closed her eyes for the first few measures when performing for her friends.

“ _O mio babbino caro_ ,” she began delicately. Chilton took in a deep breath and sighed; this was his favorite. Mrs. Chilton’s voice grew louder. “ _Mi piace, è bello bello_.”

The room grew rapt with attention, all eyes on Mrs. Chilton. Even though hers were still shut, every ounce of emotion that the song provokes in a performer emanated from the lines in her face, her olive complexion, how her mouth contorted to shape the way sound came forth from it. Sorrowful tears clung to the vibrato that rang through the room; the expert control Mrs. Chilton had of her voice transformed a note from a blunt fortissimo to the softest fermata that stayed suspended in the ether.

By the end of the aria, Mrs. Chilton’s eyes were wide open and glassy, her nearly on the edge of tears. “ _Babbo, pietà, pietà!_ ”

“What does it mean, madre?” Chilton was now sitting at the piano, trying to accompany his mother. Mrs. Chilton rolled her eyes at being called “madre.” While her household was bilingual, she liked the idea of being called mom; or even better, mommy. She wasn’t ashamed of her heritage in the slightest, but she felt a pull deep within her to be more American. Perhaps it was all the American television she watched as a child, all the perfect matriarchs with their loving children. Now, at 15, Chilton’s sarcasm had fully developed and he’d taken to calling her madre with the most American pronunciation possible as a joke. Mrs. Chilton cringed at being addressed as “mah-dray.”

“Well, the story goes that Lauretta is in love with Rinuccio, but her father Schicchi wants to separate them, so Lauretta pleads with him not to break them up.”

“What a unique and compelling tale,” Chilton mocked with a smile.

“Tsst!” replied Mrs. Chilton as she pulled her son’s ear for being such a wisecracker. “Don’t be a brat, Frederick.”

“Sorry, madre.”

“Anyway, Lauretta tells her father she wants to go to Porta Rossa to buy a wedding ring and if he refuses she’ll jump off the Ponte Vecchio.” She tugged his ear again before he even had time to make a remark. “She ends the song with _babbo, pietà, pietà_! Papa, have pity, have pity!”

“And does he?” Chilton shifted his eyes back down at the piano and clunked a few notes. “Have pity?”

“Yes, he does. In fact, he goes out of his way to make sure Lauretta and Rinuccio get married. So, it has a happy ending.”

He looked up at his mother, who smiled warmly; she stroked his cheek. Although her son didn’t say it, she knew he was still tender from a fight he had with his father earlier. She bent down and kissed him on the forehead. “We all get our happy endings, mi amor.”

“Hey, Freddy! Look at this!”

Chilton looked above him and saw Evie, tall and toned, wearing a Speedo bathing suit and standing on the railing of the second floor. His eyes widened in fear as she jumped off, flipping in slow motion. Before she hit the ground, there was a great flash and when Chilton’s eyes came back into focus, his little sister dove headfirst into water. A whoop and forceful clapping startled him as he turned to see his father sitting to the left of him, wearing aviators and a wide smile. His pale skin was offset by wisps of jet-black hair sticking out from under a red baseball cap and although he couldn’t see them, Chilton knew the same eyes he saw in the mirror everyday were hiding behind those shiny sunglasses.

“Goddamn, she’s good,” he turned to say to him. He cupped his hands over his mouth and stood. “Awesome job, Evie! You look great! Just great!”

Chilton looked around: he was sitting on the bleachers of his high school’s outdoor pool. Not many schools were lucky enough to have an indoor and outdoor pool, but the Chiltons lived in the wealthiest county in the DC area, which meant even their public schools were exceptional. It had a nationally recognized swimming and diving team and Evie was one of their star divers, being the only freshman to have made the varsity team in over fifty years. Chilton took in his surroundings. He and his father and sister were the only people at the pool and the remaining bleachers were overrun with flowers and tall grass, the lane dividers made of thick, verdant vines.

“She’s something else, huh?” Mr. Chilton said. He paused and looked at his son. “And so are you, Freddy boy.”

Chilton laughed under his breath. He wasn’t used to his father being nice. “Yeah, okay dad.”

“No, really, Fred. I don’t tell you enough that I’m proud of you. I know it’s been a tough couple of years for you, but look at you now. You’ll be going to college in the fall and getting back on track. You’ll be the B.M.O.C.”

“What?” Chilton furrowed his brows and braced himself for whatever groan-worthy phrase the acronym stood for.

“Big man on campus!” he patted his son’s back vigorously. He chuckled and took in a deep breath, turning to Chilton as he exhaled. Chilton could see his reflection in his father’s sunglasses and it was an odd sight. Chilton was slightly aware that he had stayed an adult as he moved from each vignette to the next, but the confirmation of it was jarring. “Listen, don’t – uh, don’t worry about being a punching bag. College is a fresh start. No one knows about your, uh, past. So, just be confident and no one will pick on you.”

“Thanks, dad.”

They both became preoccupied with Evie again, watching her scale the 3-meter diving board and take to the air. She waved cheerfully at them before turning around to do a back two-and-a-half flip with a half twist and they returned it in perfect synchronization.

“She’s going to miss you. More than your mother, I bet.” Mr. Chilton put his arm around his son and pulled him in close. “I’m gonna miss you too, Freddy boy.”

Chilton pulled away and looked at his father, who’d pushed his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose so he could look into his son’s pale green eyes. “I’ll miss you too.”

“I’ve missed you so much Freddy! I can’t believe you didn’t come home for summer this year, you asshole.”

Chilton sat in the front seat of his sister’s parked car. He looked out the window and saw snowfall; the snowflakes were of all different shapes and sizes that turned to stained glass the moment they hit the ground. “Well, I’m here now.”

“It only took you ‘til Thanksgiving for fuck’s sake.” Evie pushed her finger against a cassette sticking out of the car’s stereo system. _Heaven_ by Talking Heads began to play. 

“When did you develop such a sailor mouth, Ev?” Chilton laughed, recognizing that his sister was no longer the innocent little girl that sat in his arms as they listened to their mother sing. How his sister changed in only a few years; she had her mother’s complexion and dark hazel eyes and the same thick black hair as her father, which she had somehow convinced their parents to let her put pink and purple streaks through. She started wearing makeup while he was away at college, too. His eyes were drawn to her plump lips, painted bubblegum pink. “It’s that new boyfriend, isn’t it?”

She smirked. “Excuse me for being cool. Where’s your boyfriend, huh?”

Chilton slumped down in the front seat, his face turning a deep shade of red. “I’m not interested in having a boyfriend, if you must know. I need to stay focused if I want to get into med school.”

“You need to get laid.”

“Woah! Jesus, Ev! This is not proper brother-sister conversation!” Chilton was truly flabbergasted to hear his little sister be so crass. She rolled her eyes and he laughed, recognizing that she finally succumbed to the incessant eye rolling that plagued the Chilton household. “So, you’re gonna be applying to college soon then.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Mom and dad are putting so much pressure on me.” She turned towards her big brother and leaned her cheek against the headrest, her features softening. “I wish I could just live with you.”

“Yeah? What about diving?”

“What about diving?”

“Nothing. I just thought you were gonna keep diving. Mom and dad said you might make it to the Olympics.”

“Mom and dad like to brag.” She turned and looked at the steering wheel. “Of course, I do want to keep diving. I do want to be on the Olympic team.”

“But?” Chilton pressed.

“But I want to have fun! All I do is train and I haven’t had a chance to be a normal teenager, you know?” Evie breathed in deep and let out a groan. “I’m afraid life is gonna to pass me by, that I’m gonna wake up one day and realize that I wasted my whole life on a sport, you know?. It’s not like I’m gonna dive my whole life, Freddy. Eventually I won’t be able to do it anymore and by then, what’ll I have left?”

“You’re not going to waste your whole life,” he replied softly. “Yeah, diving takes up a lot of your time, but when you’re older, you have more of a say in everything, more control. You don’t just have to be a diver. You don’t only have to be one thing. You’re 16. You’ll have plenty of time to figure stuff out.”

Evie turned the ignition and smiled, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Oh, Freddy. I wish that were true.”

“What?”

“You have to get out now, okay?” The passenger door flew open and Chilton looked out to see an open field with perfectly manicured, bright green grass. The sun was high and warm. “Bye, Freddy.”

Chilton felt a push and he found himself on all fours. The grass was lush and springy under his palms. He barely had time to lift his head when a pair of feet came into his view.

“Hi, Dr. Chilton.”

He looked up and saw Charles Lin smiling down at him, wearing a beat up pair of jeans and a wrinkled dress shirt. The top two buttons were undone and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He extended his arm to help Chilton stand.

“Charles.”

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out,” he said, his smile growing wider. “It’s good to see you.”

“I – um.” He looked around, trying to figure out where they were.

“Turn around,” Lin said instinctively. He watched Chilton turn quickly, giving him a few seconds to take the scene in before putting a supportive hand on his shoulder.

“Evie,” he whispered. In the distance, past dozens of headstones, he watched his sister’s funeral and for the first time, he saw himself as a young man. It felt like he was watching a scene from a film about his life. Sofia Chilton was sobbing on her daughter’s coffin and swatting at those who were trying to tear her away. His father watched blankly, as if he weren’t even there and then…there he was. Chilton, at 20 years old, wore an ill fitting and frumpy black suit with his head buried in his lap. Chilton watched his younger self’s back heave up and down, wracked with sobs, remembering exactly how he felt in that moment, even feeling warm tears dampen his cheeks.

“We don’t have to stay here very long,” Lin spoke. “In fact, I don’t even know why you were brought here. Or I. Sorry about your sister, by the way.”

Chilton turned to look at Lin, mouth agape and eyes wide. “What is all this?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think I was going to be meeting you here, of all places. But I’m not really in control of this whole thing.” He paused and studied Chilton’s tormented visage. “We should go.”

“Okay.” Chilton glanced back at the funeral one more time before following him towards a patch of trees a few yards ahead. Lin shoved his hands in his pockets and trekked forward without giving Chilton a second glance. As they went on, it was as if they were walking in place while the forest moved swiftly towards them. When the edge reached them, a few trees moved to open like a gate, revealing a lavish garden with a stone bench at its center.

Lin walked straight in and turned around, beckoning Chilton towards him. “Come on in.”

“What is this place?” He proceeded cautiously while watching butterflies the size of robins glide through the sky above.

“It’s my garden, Dr. Chilton.” Lin breathed in deep through his nose, closing his eyes and lifting his face towards the sun. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yes, it is Charles.” Chilton sat down next to him on the smooth, cool bench and watched him smile peacefully, his tan skin radiant under the sunlight that drenched them both. “I imagined your garden to look a little –“

“Spookier?” Lin grinned. Chilton nodded his head and let out a sigh of relief. “This is how I saw it. This is where I got to be who I truly was.”

“It’s lovely, Charles.”

“Thank you.”

The two men looked at each other for a while. Lin’s eyes grew heavy with sadness as he stared back earnestly. Chilton shifted in his seat.

“So, did you want to show me something, or – “

“Nah,” Lin replied, looking down at his thumbs as he twiddled them. “I just wanted to say a few things.”

“Well,” Chilton started. “I am your psychiatrist. Was; was your psychiatrist.”

“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk about,” he replied thoughtfully.

“Oh.”

“No, Dr. Chilton! It’s nothing bad!” Lin took Chilton’s hand in his own tenderly, with no pretenses other than to comfort him. “You were a good doctor to me; the best, actually. You cared about me.”

“Yes, I did.” Chilton squeezed his hand, no longer afraid of him or his past crimes.

“I don’t know why I reacted so poorly. Perhaps it’s because I knew you were right. I was far too attached to you for my own good. But I couldn’t help it really.”

“Why, Charles? I never understood. Why did you like me so much?”

“I have this incredible ability; a kind of gift. I can see the absolute best in nearly anyone. From our first session, I could see you. I could see the loneliness and sadness but I could also see that you just wanted love. Love made you a better person; it shone through you. I could see the light that radiated from within and it illuminated every wonderful thing about you. You have a wonderful sense of humor and a giving spirit. You weren’t always the man everyone at the hospital knew you as. At one time you were selfless and passionate. You became a psychiatrist! You wanted to help people, but I’m afraid they kept letting you down, huh? Once Evie was gone, right? Katherine barely spoke to you, your mother treated you like a child, your father turned to stone, your peers mocked you and it left you broken. I wanted to fix that. I knew I could. It’s what I did for all the others. I don’t know if you find this comforting at all, but I like you very much. I think you’re a good person.”

Lin stood up and stretched his hand to the sky, watching with childish wonder as a butterfly landed in his palm. He brought it close to him, keeping still so it wouldn’t fly away. Cupping it, he sat down and grinned at Chilton, motioning for him to take it. The butterfly needed no prompting at all; in fact it was eager to rest in his hands. Together, they stared at its multicolored wings as they flapped back and forth lazily.

“Well, Frederick,” Lin sighed. “It’s time to go.”

Slivers of light pushed their way through cracks in the butterfly, growing larger and brighter rapidly. Chilton stared at Charles Lin’s kind expression as he slowly dissolved until there was nothing but white, the air around him thick with an electric current. Then darkness.

There was a sadness mixed with resolute acceptance permeating Chilton’s being. He wasn’t ready to die, but he was at peace with it. He was grateful to have seen his family: his father at his kindest, his mother at her most radiant, Katherine in a moment where she actually acknowledged him, and Evie. Beautiful, uninhibited, loving Evie, his true soul mate. He wished that it could have gone on a little longer, to see a few more faces before finally discovering where it was he was going next. In the pitch black, he could hear his breathing slowing down and his limbs grew heavy. But then, he saw a yellow flicker. He squinted at it, trying to identify what it was. The light grew larger and he recognized it as flames; they danced and lapped the blackness around them with orange brushstrokes that expanded their reach until a fireplace came into view. As they swelled, Chilton watched the surrounding wall become more discernible, the mantle looking oddly familiar. It slowly dawned on him where he was when he finally saw _Leda and the Swan_.

“Frederick,” Hannibal Lecter said cheerily. “Come sit down.”

Chilton turned around and saw Hannibal pull a chair out for him at his stunningly decorated dining room table. Instead of the bizarre décor it was often adorned with, lively lush flowers that sparkled in the dim light burst from glass centerpieces. A warm tingling sensation overtook him, starting from the crown of his head and trickling down his body like summer rain.

“Hello, Hannibal,” he said as he sat down. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“It’s serendipitous that I prepared this meal then.” After Chilton was made comfortable, Hannibal presented a fragrant lamb dish. “Seco de Cordero.”

“Really?” Chilton said gleefully. “I haven’t had this in years! It’s one of my –“

“Favorites. Yes, I know.”

Chilton dug into the dish, a Peruvian lamb stew, with delight and cherished the very first bite, nearly brought to tears by how good it tasted. “Thank you, Hannibal.”

“You’re quite welcome, Frederick,” he replied as he lifted his wine glass. “Let’s toast, shall we? You must be very happy with the recent developments in your life.”

“Is that right?”

“Of course.” Hannibal took a deep sip of his wine. “Will at long last went back to teaching and your relationship is finally out in the open. I think that’s cause for celebration.”

Chilton’s heart skipped a beat. He had concluded that his life was flashing in front of his eyes, like so many people who’ve had near death experiences claimed, but he never expected to delve into the future, whether it was real or fantasy. He didn’t know if the Ghost of Christmas Future was visiting him or if his deepest wishes were being granted so he could die in peace, but regardless, an intense and satisfying happiness he’d never experienced when alive overtook him. Without a second thought, he accepted the reality that Hannibal revealed.

“Yes, it is.” He couldn’t suppress a grin as he brought a wine glass to his lips. “There was a time when I didn’t think it would ever happen for us, frankly.”

“Understandable,” Hannibal remarked. “He was lucky to have finally gotten a correct diagnosis before it was too late.”

“Very. I always knew it was something physical and not a mental illness. I believed Will from the very beginning.”

“It’s not often that I’m wrong, but when I am, I fully admit it,” he said with a smile. “You were right, Frederick.”

They ate in contended silence for a moment, smiling at each other while taking bites of their aromatic meal. Chilton had never felt such a strong kinship between the two of them; it felt like he finally had a best friend.

“So, have you arranged for your house to be more dog friendly?”

“Well, I have no other choice. I would never dream of making Will give up any of his dogs, but I’m going to have to put a protective film on the hardwood floors. Will isn’t very good about keeping their claws trimmed. Not to mention they drool everywhere.”

“I’m sure they’ll be very happy,” Hannibal declared, taking another sip of wine. “And I’ll be very happy to entertain more frequently now that the both of you will be living nearby.”

“Ah, Hannibal, that would be wonderful. Even better, you could come cook in our kitchen sometime.” His heart burst at having said our kitchen instead of my. “I certainly don’t use it enough and Will’s culinary skills don’t go much further than frying river trout.”

“That would be lovely.”

Chilton was so caught up in the idyllic nature of their conversation, he hadn’t noticed that outside Hannibal’s windows, the scene was shifting from rippling black satin to a soft, grey fog creeping up the panes of glass. Hannibal turned to look over his shoulder and put his silverware down.

“This has been wonderful Frederick,” he said sincerely. “But it seems our meal has to come to an end.”

Chilton peered out the window with Hannibal, watching as the sun rose on a pristine beach, mounds of sand building silken dunes. The roar of the ocean could be heard far away and as the sun ascended, he could see the shimmer of water stir beneath it. It froze low in the sky, turning it a vibrant, rosy red with shades of yellow, blue, purple, and orange blending into each other around it. In the distance, he saw a small figure at the very edge of the water. Hannibal rose and opened the door so that a warm breeze flowed inside, carrying the fragrance of the sea. Chilton stepped forward, standing side by side with him and took in a heavy breath.

“This is really the end, isn’t it?” Chilton said serenely.

“I can’t say for certain, but when given a competing set of hypotheses, the simplest answer tends to be the correct one.”

Chilton turned to look at him, smiling wide. “Occam’s Razor.”

He moved in for a handshake, but to his surprise, Hannibal placed a hand on his shoulder, studying his face with a sincere smile. He pulled Chilton close and hugged him gently, leaving the man slightly stunned. Instinctually, Chilton hugged him back and felt Hannibal give him a squeeze before releasing him.

“So long, Frederick.”

Chilton stepped onto the beach, feeling his feet sink into the warm, soft sand. He looked down, finding himself bare foot and wearing a comfy pair of grey jersey bottoms and one of his black cotton t-shirts, his pajamas. He walked forward, his eyes catching a pier far down the beach. He was back in Kitty Hawk; this was the finale.

The sand was still warm from the sun beating down on it all day, the temperature just right for trekking across it without shoes. He sped up as he grew closer to the ocean, to the male figure that stood with his back facing him. Chilton’s heart swelled, having a strong feeling as to who it was; he could see the man’s curly head of dark hair that stood out above the white t-shirt he wore. His cargo shorts looked ratty and lived in and his hands were shoved deep in their pockets.

Will Graham turned his head and grinned, moving to face Chilton and folding his arms; he was so tan.

“Took you long enough,” he laughed, accompanied by distant barking.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” said Chilton breathlessly. “I got a little lost.”

Will pulled him in and hugged him tightly. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” Chilton pulled away and stroked Will’s cheek with a delicate hand. “You got a lot of sun today.”

“I wish you’d been here.” He took Chilton’s hand from his cheek and held it, giving it a quick kiss. “We had a lot of fun today.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

“Yes, you are.” Will kissed him sweetly, both of them closing their eyes as the spark of skin touching skin made them drunk with adoration. As the kiss grew deeper, Chilton heard the barks get closer, followed by a laugh. 

He pulled away and saw Winston and the rest of the pack running down the shore, followed by a little girl whose long auburn hair flowed behind her. She wore a periwinkle sundress, her olive complexion looking even darker beneath it. She couldn’t have been more than 5 and the closer she got, the more Chilton thought he recognized her. His heart skipped a beat at how remarkably like Evie she looked. But as she drew closer, he saw subtle differences. Her lips were a little thinner, more like his, and the green in her eyes shone bright in the sunlight.

“Dad! Papá! Look at all the seashells I found!” She pulled a handful of smooth, colorful shells out of her pocket and thrust her hand forward so they could see. Will knelt down to get a better look, as Chilton looked at her in awe. He hadn’t anticipated this at all and as she chattered on, he saw Evie’s spirit in her, as if she were radiating from within this little girl. Tightness grew in his chest, an immediate and unfathomable love surging through all of him. The child pushed her hand towards him, presenting the seashells.

“Look, papá. Aren’t they pretty?” She looked up at him with her big green eyes, the same eyes he’d looked at in the mirror every morning, the same eyes that peeked from behind his father’s sunglasses and then suddenly the memories crashed into him.

He remembered the exhausted and big-hearted surrogate handing him his bundled newborn. He remembered the baptism at a vast and ornate Catholic Church, the sun shining through stained glass windows, drenching her in diffused color as the priest brought holy water to her forehead. He remembered getting in a fight with Will because he went to the kitchen to fetch him a drink at the precise moment she took her first steps. He was furious and disappointed that he missed it and Will couldn’t take him seriously, which turned from bickering to shouting that lead to making up later that evening, the both of them apologizing, tangled in each other’s naked bodies. He remembered buying her an outrageously expensive dress for her first day of kindergarten, which was cause for endless eye rolling from Will. He remembered how they flew kites on the dunes at Kill Devil Hills just a few days before and telling her about how the Wright brothers made history on the very sand they stood on.

“Can we go swimming again?” the littler girl asked. “Please?”

“No, Abigail, it’s getting late,” replied Will with an exhausted sigh. “We were in the sun all day and I want to go to bed.”

“Aw, come on!” Abigail furrowed her brow and looked at Chilton. “Papá, can we go swimming?”

“I’m not wearing my bathing suit, Abby,” he said, picking her up suddenly, causing her to squeak in delight. “Dad’s right. It’s getting late.”

“Besides, the tide’s going out.” Will pointed at the ocean as it retreated from the shore.

The three of them squinted at the water as it drew back further and Chilton could see something rise from the ocean. He walked closer, holding Abigail to him tight and saw a familiar rotunda slowly protruding, water surging out of it. The waves kept retreating and the building grew taller, revealing stone and brick. Before it was even a third of the way exposed, he knew exactly what it was: The Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally Insane rose like a proud castle. But it didn’t have the ominous aura it emanated when he saw it last. Ivy snaked around its walls and massive flowers bloomed from the windows, the rotunda transforming into a mighty willow tree. Instead of fear and sadness, Chilton felt complete. The time had finally come.

He put Abigail down and turned to Will, whose crestfallen look pierced Chilton at his core. Of course, he was sad to leave him, but the goodbye was inevitable and he felt tremendously blessed to live out a life he didn’t get the chance to enjoy on earth. It may have been abridged, but he got everything he’d ever wanted: A man to love and a child to call his own. To ask for anything more would be ungrateful. The hospital finally came to a standstill and it was truly beautiful.

The front door opened steadily as light began to spill out of it. He turned to face it, trying to see what was beyond the threshold; he knew the only way to find out would be to walk through it. He felt Will’s arms snake around his midsection, hugging him tightly from behind and resting his head on his shoulder. Chilton wanted to turn around, but he knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to leave at peace. Looking back would just upset him and he didn’t want the adventure to culminate with melancholy.

“Where are you going papá?” Abigail asked softly from behind him.

“Don’t worry, Abby. Stay with dad and I’ll be back soon.” Chilton gulped, trying with all his might to keep looking forward.

“Okay,” she answered. “Just as long as you can go fishing with us.”

“Of course,” he murmured as he walked forward, keeping his eyes focused on the light. “We’ll all go fishing. We’ll catch a big fish.”

The doors were wide open now, the light so bright and immense that the beach was completely gone. It was just he and the door, the threshold, the answer to what happens when we die. He was ready for it.

The ride to the observatory had been dreadfully tense. Will never felt so ill in his life: His head was throbbing, sweat dampened his face and hairline, and he wasn’t even entirely sure he was awake. Jack ordered that he stay outside, to not subject himself to whatever it was that waited for them when they arrived. Will knew that both Chilton and Freddie Lounds were there with Gideon, in some sort of unknown danger. Based on what happened to Gideon’s other psychiatrists, he couldn’t deny the fact that something terrible was happening to the man he’d just shared his bed with days before.

But he didn’t want to face it. He didn’t want to feel any emotion that came with discovering what state Frederick Chilton was in. He couldn’t face the horrible fact that the last memory he had of the man was of fleeing from his home after a violent altercation. Would Chilton even be relieved to see him? The combination of debilitating illness and miserable heartache lead Will to believe the best thing he could do was to avoid the scene altogether, which is why he couldn’t understand why he was moving. It was as if he had no control over his body when he felt it open the car door, following Jack Crawford down the path to the observatory.

His heart thumped in his chest like a timpani drum. Yet, fear turned into serenity as he let his body take over and maneuver itself after hearing a nickering sound near the tree line. It was the great black stag. He needed to tread forward so he could meet the otherworldly animal, to be given an answer; he knew it had an answer. Everything around him, the noise, the men with guns, and the shouts for paramedics transformed into a low hum of static. The ebony creature beckoned.

He sped up as he watched the stag trudge into the forest, becoming difficult to see behind dark trees. Will followed close behind, tracking the sound of powerful braying, swatting branches away from his face, gaining traction where snow had thinned out and barely making out the stag’s form as it trotted ahead of him. He began to run as his vision went in and out of focus, desperate to catch the stag, to touch it in the hopes of feeling some sort of supernatural communion between the two of them. The animal halted abruptly and before Will could come to a stop, he crashed into it. He braced himself for the collision but instead went right through it as it burst into a thick cloud of smoke.

Waiting on the other side of it was a car. If the stag had lead him there, then there was a reason. He got in the backseat and waited, his gun out, ready to face the devil himself.

“I was expecting the Chesapeake Ripper. Or are you he?”

“Turn around. Don’t look at me,” Will ordered Garret Jacob Hobbs, who sat in the driver’s seat of the freezing vehicle. The man mumbled a few words, something about Will looking peaked, but that’s not what he wanted to talk to Hobbs about. “Drive.”

“Where are we going?” Hobbs asked suspiciously.

“Just follow my directions.”

After detailing the route, the men sat in silence. Hobbs’ waxen skin glistened in street lamps and moonlight as they drove to Hannibal Lecter’s house.

Will finally broke the tension between them. “Why can’t I get rid of you?”

“I’m not a ghost, if that’s what you think.” Hobbs continued looking forward, but peeked in the review mirror, trying to catch Will’s eye.

“What are you, then?” his voice trembled. He tried to steady his hand, but couldn’t keep the gun he was holding from wobbling.

“I’m you.”

Will saw Hobbs’ eyes crinkle in the review mirror, just narrow enough that he couldn’t see his smile. He knew though; he could sense it and feel Hobbs’ taunting even if he weren’t voicing it aloud.

“I’m not anything like you,” Will muttered as sweat poured down his face. “I’m not a murderer.”

Hobbs ignored the rebuttal. “How’s Abigail?”

“Better off without you.”

“That might be true, but she’s not much better off with you, Will.” Hobbs let out a short, breathy laugh. “You know that, right? You’re crazy.”

“Shut up,” he growled.

“Why is it so hard for you to accept who you are? I spent a long time running away from myself. I tried for years to not give in, but when I did? Boy, was it something else.” Hobbs’ voice was serene, the nostalgia softening his demeanor. “The first time I honored a girl like that? It was transcendent. Every girl after that felt better and better. But Abigail…Abigail reminded me of who I was and for a while I thought she could accept me. I thought we were happy together.”

Hobbs paused, waiting for Will to chime in, but to no avail.

“I heard her crying in the shower after the fifth or sixth girl and I knew her heart wasn’t in it; at least, not in what we were doing. But she loved me enough to keep going.”

“She was terrified. It wasn’t out of love,” barked Will, taking the comment personally, as if he understood Abigail more than her own father.

“You don’t know anything about her, Will.” Hobbs glanced back at him, sending a searing jolt of fear through Will’s body. “My little girl…my little girl. Not yours. There are so many things you don’t know about her. There’s darkness in her and she’s afraid of it. I tried to help her, make her realize that there was a way to live with it, to embrace it even. She just had to let go and you know what? She was close. She was almost there, until you came along. She’s capable of killing and you know it, so why do you hide behind the fantasy that she could belong to you, somehow? That you can save her? Don’t you see? If she’s like you and you’re like her, then you’re a killer too. See?”

“No.” Will shook his head, on the verge of tears. “No.”

“You should have let her die that day, Will. She would have moved on to a better place.” Hobbs parked the car in front of Hannibal Lecter’s house and turned around. “You know that just as well as I do.”

Will shot out of the car and slammed the door shut, furious at Hobbs’ assertions. He walked to the driver’s side and yanked Hobbs out by his coat, jamming the butt of the gun into his lower back. “Move.”

Hobbs complied and walked past the gate, stopping at the door and turning to look at his captor as he rang the bell. “I’m curious to know how this is going to pan out.”

Hannibal swung the door open to see Will Graham and Abel Gideon standing in front of him, their warm breath billowing from their mouths so that their faces were just barely obscured. He moved to let them in.

What a peculiar chain of events Hannibal Lecter had experienced in a 24-hour period. His colleague Dr. Chilton was sliced open and disemboweled in an observatory of all places, Abel Gideon sat at his dining room table and discovered he was directly across from The Chesapeake Riper himself, and Will Graham shot the man less than an hour later, collapsing and landing himself in the hospital where Hannibal currently sat, waiting for him to wake up. He found tranquility in the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and waited patiently for his friend, his cherished paragon to finally stir.

After a nurse told him that Will would be out for a couple more hours, Hannibal strolled through the halls of the hospital to waste time, looking out for two other patients that were then recovering as well. Abel Gideon was out of surgery and slowly recovering, with a wrist cuffed to his bed and Frederick Chilton? It was too soon to tell. He overheard some gossipy nurses chatter about Chilton’s condition and seemed that he was in hour nine of being reassembled. Of course, doctors had to do the surgeries in segments, lest his body just give out from exhaustion.

Hannibal planned on being sat at his bedside as well when he finally awoke. The world may have temporarily gone to hell, but Hannibal wouldn’t be one of the great intellects if he weren’t always planning a few steps ahead.

Chilton was about to step through the door when he heard beeping in the distance. He looked around him and saw only white and the frame of the threshold. The beeping grew louder and the light began to dim as he saw the door slowly shut.

_ No. _

Abruptly, he felt a violent pull in his chest that yanked him backwards, tugging him further and further from the light as the beeps grew louder.

_ No! _

His heart splintered as he watched the light grow smaller until it disappeared. The beeps were blaring now and there was an uncomfortable tightness in the middle of his belly. His eyes blinked rapidly until he began to make out fuzzy grey and green shapes and could hear shuffling and murmurs accompanying the beeps as everything came into focus.

“Nurse.”

The voice was familiar.

“Oh!” Another man. “Let me get Dr. Goodard.”

“Frederick?” the familiar voice said softly. “Can you hear me?”

“H – h – “ he tried to manage, but his throat was dry and he couldn’t get the word out.

More shuffling and hurried footsteps.

“Is he awake Dr. Lecter?” A woman’s voice this time.

“It looks like he’s coming to.”

Of course, it was Hannibal.

The doctor shone a light from one eye to the other, testing his consciousness. “Frederick, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”

He felt an icy hand's grip and he willed his weak extremity to grasp it.

“Good.” The woman became better defined, her severe features juxtaposed with kind eyes. “Okay, Frederick. Try to focus on me. You’re in the hospital and you’re okay.”

“What happened?” he croaked, becoming anxious.

“You’ve been in a coma for the past week, but you’re okay now.”

“No, what happened?” he said louder.

“Frederick, it’s Hannibal.” Chilton saw Hannibal come into his line of vision, slightly subduing his anxiety. “Something happened with Dr. Gideon. Do you remember that?”

Chilton’s exhaled short breaths through his nose, shaking his head in denial.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember,” the other doctor said. “Memory loss is very common in people who’ve suffered major trauma.”

“No.”

“Frederick, what’s wrong?” Hannibal said softly.

“Why did I have to come back?” he whispered, tears streaming down his face. He looked at Dr. Goodard with a pained expression. “Why did you bring me back?”

The doctor exchanged a nervous look with Hannibal, not knowing how to answer the question.

“Frederick, are you in any pain right now?” Hannibal took Chilton’s hand in both his and held it tenderly. Chilton nodded his head and wrenched his eyes shut. Hannibal motioned to the doctor and she called for the nurse to administer painkillers. Within minutes, Chilton was asleep.

Frederick Chilton woke in room 3473 in the intensive care unit at Johns Hopkins, fully aware of his situation. The last time he regained consciousness, he could barely process where he was, let alone why he was there. But this time, he knew. He remembered Abel Gideon slicing him open as Freddie Lounds looked on. He remembered the coppery smell of his own blood and the last words Gideon said before he slipped away. All of it was painful and nightmarish to remember, but it was nothing compared to the agony of not dying. He was ready to die, he was finished with the world and its cruelty, he wasn’t afraid and he wanted so badly to step into the light that it felt like a monstrous betrayal to have been brought back.

“Feeling better, Frederick?”

Chilton turned to see Hannibal sitting near his bed, hands folded in his lap and donning one of his trademark suits, although it was slightly dressed down for the hospital; he wore a sweater beneath his blazer rather than the usual dress shirt and vest.

“Not really, no.”

Hannibal smiled and stood up, drawing nearer to his bed. “Understandable. Dr. Gideon did quite a number on you.”

“That’s an understatement,” he murmured. Depression began invade his body like black poison.

“Well, rest assured, Gideon is sitting in a jail infirmary as we speak.”

“Infirmary?” Chilton furrowed his brow in confusion. “Why’s he in an infirmary?”

Hannibal feigned embarrassment at having something like that let slip so soon into their conversation. Of course, he wanted to bring it up as quickly as possible without looking like he was pressing the issue. Hannibal winced. “Ah, of course. A lot has happened while you were comatose.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know how much of that night you remember, but Abel Gideon was very busy during the two days he was a fugitive.”

“Yes, busy with me,” muttered Chilton with disdain.

“You were most likely incapacitated while Gideon was at large murdering former psychiatrists of his.” Hannibal watched Chilton’s eyes grow larger with disbelief. “He had already escaped by the time Jack Crawford found you and Miss Lounds at which point, Will realized that Alana Bloom had also treated him briefly. He rushed to her residence in the hopes of intersecting Gideon before he could do anything to hurt her.”

“Will went to save Alana Bloom?” Chilton felt like he got the wind knocked out of him. “While I was –“

“He knew there was nothing he could do at that point, so he went to stop Gideon,” he said pragmatically. “Which he did; he shot him right outside Alana’s window.”

“Good. If only he had better aim,” Chilton bemoaned. Quickly, his thoughts turned to Will. “Where is he? Will, I mean?”

There was a prolonged silence and Hannibal looked away from him, melancholy washing across his face.

“Hannibal? Where’s Will?” he said slowly.

“Frederick, I –“

“Where is he?”

“We shouldn’t talk about this.” Hannibal shook his head solemnly. “You’re still very unwell. Stress will do nothing but exacerbate your condition.”

“Hannibal, just tell me, damn it!”

“Will is in jail,” he answered in a flat tone. “Your jail to be more precise.”

“What? What do you mean my jail? The hospital? Why is he at the hospital?" The words tumbled out of his mouth almost as fast as the thoughts racing through his mind while he tried to sort out such perturbing and bizarre news. 

“Frederick, I need you to calm down. I’m going to explain everything to you exactly as I know it and you’re going listen, nothing else. What I’m about to tell you has been incredibly hard for me to process and discussing it is very painful at the moment.”

Chilton began to panic at hearing such an address from Hannibal. Whatever he was about to say must be really horrible if it had shaken the practical, reserved man that would never be described as flappable by anyone.

As Hannibal recounted how Will Graham killed five people and accused an imaginary copycat killer of his own crimes, Chilton stared at the wall. He felt his heart grow cold and heavy, becoming a rough, ugly rock buried in his chest. He veins dried up and broke into hundreds of blue shards that cut his insides worse than Abel Gideon ever could have. Every ounce of love he once held for Will Graham was replaced with an intense hatred that tore his spirit to shreds, leaving him empty. He held a human form but in essence he was completely split down the middle and left empty like a cicada's flimsy molted shell, abandoned and clinging to a former life that no longer held any significance.

He thought of the beach, the door, the light and his heart broke for the final time as he wondered what he did to deserve such a punishment, the punishment of having to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the final chapter and there will be an epilogue to wrap everything up in a way that I feel is satisfying. I'm sorry there won't be anymore narrative from S2-3, but I'm hoping the epilogue will put everything right.


	15. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion to Sleepwalk With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote chapters 1-14 in 2013/14 and had plans to continue through at least season 2 but I grew fatigued and abandoned it despite writing a 15th chapter that kept the narrative going. However, I don't have the time, energy, or frankly the inclination to write 1 to 2 more seasons worth of content but I did want to wrap everything up in a satisfying way and not leave y'all hanging. This epilogue is a fast forward to the very final moments of season 3.

Hannibal Lecter was free. In the many months that had passed since he'd comforted Frederick Chilton after he awoke from being brutalized by Abel Gideon, his entire life had been turned upside down: fleeing to Italy, being captured by Mason Verger, ending up in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane under the new administrator Alana Bloom, his former lover and then keeper. His meddling in The Tooth Fairy case was the key to his final escape and he knew he finally had the love of Will Graham. 

The sea raged far below Will and Hannibal as Francis Dolarhyde's blood flew through the air, spraying and seeping onto the concrete patio perched on a cliff. The sharp blades of Will and Hannibal's weapons tore through Dolarhyde's flesh in a murderous symphony of love and relief. The Great Red Dragon was finally slaughtered and the two remaining men fell silent, only their panting and the ocean roars filling the air. It was dark, but the pale moonlight made the blood shine a glistening onyx, the depth of which could be miles into the earth's core.

"It really does look black in the moonlight," said Will quietly, red patches of blood staining his face.

Once the violence settled, the ocean moaned below as if sirens were attempting to seduce the men to their deaths. Having been shot by Dolarhyde minutes before succumbing to his own wounds, Hannibal felt woozy on his feet but planted them firmly so as to help up the man he built his world around stand at his side, covered in crimson. 

Will was bleeding profusely from multiple wounds and was sure he wouldn't survive, leaving him with very few options as to how to end all of this. He had aided and abetted Hannibal Lecter too many times to be given any more leeway by the FBI and he wasn't sure he wanted to imprison him again. Perhaps the world was better with Hannibal in it, despite his crimes. Perhaps Will just didn't want to part with the only man who knew who he really was. As he moved groggily towards Hannibal, Will's consciousness began to fade in and out and Hannibal's face blurred. He closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them Frederick Chilton stood in front of him. Will blinked, shaken by what he saw but willing to let it happen. As Chilton brought him closer into him, every memory of their relationship flooded behind Will's eyes, every kiss, every fight, every time he wanted to say "I love you" and didn't out of fear. 

"See? This is all I ever wanted for you, Will," Chilton said tenderly. "For both of us."

Will looked back at him, knowing he couldn't be Chilton but the realization that Hannibal Lecter wasn't actually the only man that knew him, that he had once loved someone much more deeply than Hannibal could ever love anyone crashed into him like the waves below into the jagged shore. He had never gotten closure with Chilton as they had drifted apart after Will's incarceration, Chilton believing every horrible thing he was told about his lover. Why wouldn't he? All the evidence pointed to Will. Chilton had tortured Will when he was under his exclusive care out of spite and hurt, causing more animosity to grow. Of course, after it had been discovered the Hannibal was the architect of Will's design, there was no forgiveness between Will and Chilton. Even when they visited each other in the hospital after their respective attacks, the conversation was curt and borderline unprofessional. 

A wave of sorrow washed over Will as he despaired that he'd never tell Chilton he forgave him, that he loved him, that he wished they could have the life they both dreamed of. His obsession with Hannibal had clouded every other aspect of his life and he had forgotten what it was like to be so badly needed. When he found Molly, he was the most broken he'd ever been in his life and when he met her, she shone radiantly like Lady Madonna. He loved having a son, even if not by blood, but the longer they stayed a family, the more Will grew silent like his own father. His deep love for his found family wasn't enough to keep him from changing, becoming more grizzled and angry on the inside while seeming cool and placid on the outside. Will was soon a master at hiding his emotions so that his wife and son thought everything was okay but deep down he wanted the family he yearned for with Frederick Chilton. In the earliest hours of the morning on the rare nights Will couldn't sleep, his thoughts would drift to Chilton and their love before dashing it away to cradle his sleeping wife. He wasn't comparing his love for her and his love for Chilton, but what they had was different. It was singular and nothing he had experienced before or ever would again.

Panting softly, Will looked up at Chilton and chuckled. "It's beautiful."

Chilton brought him closer and wrapped his arms around him, Will's head falling naturally at the crook of his neck. Rationally he knew he was holding Hannibal Lecter but if this is how he was going to die, he was going to do it pretending he was holding on to the only man who made him feel sane. In that moment he knew he loved Frederick Chilton more than he ever could Hannibal. 

He wondered where Chilton was now, having no idea that his lover was finally succumbing to the devastating wounds inflicted on him by Francis Dolarhyde. Will's last visit to Chilton had scarred him, remembering how soft his lips were when he stroked them with the pad of his thumb, how they felt on his own lips. But Chilton could barely speak considering The Tooth Fairy had bitten his lips off. His burned flesh was blistered and putrid and the sight left Will devastated despite all the anger that he had built up towards the man. While Will was being cradled atop a cliff, Frederick Chilton took his final breath, an act he'd put off since Abel Gideon disemboweled him. The only comfort he had was knowing he would no longer be in pain and that he would finally see what lay beyond the door he nearly walked through the last time he died. He was going to be with Evie. A tear streamed down his cheek as the monitors he was fettered to no longer registered a heartbeat.

Will's heart on the other hand was beating rapidly against his chest. He dared not look at the man who held him as he didn't want to let go of the fantasy that he could die in Frederick Chilton's arms. He swayed back and forth, trying to gain the strength to pull both of them off the ledge and surprisingly Hannibal complied, perhaps knowing he could no longer run. Eventually he would either perish or get caught and Hannibal preferred to die free with his rarest gift. If he couldn't spend his life with Will Graham, he could at least spend his death with him. 

After a few moments, Will gained the strength to pull them over the cliff, holding Hannibal so close he felt like he was becoming one with man. The ocean grew closer and closer as time slowed, giving Will a moment to catch his breath and make peace with his final actions. He would rid the world of the monster in his arms. He would no longer bring grief to others out of the need to preserve his relationship with Hannibal Lecter. He would give him the only thing he ever wanted: the entirety of himself. It was a rotten love, but the only love he had left on this earth. He could only hope that a more perfect love would await him on the other side. 

As the two men crashed into the sea, their bones shattered and pierced multiple organs, breaking their necks and killing them instantly. The world went blacker than the darkest dark, deeper than the blood that shone on the pavement above. It was curious then that Will blinked his eyes open, not understanding where he was but knowing he was dead. As the scene around him came into view, he realized he was on his front porch, his dogs barking wildly inside. He heard a familiar voice scold them to be quiet and say that there must be someone at the door. A child laughed wildly and although Will hadn't heard her voice before, it struck a familiar chord, as if he knew the child already. Before Will could grasp the handle, the door swung open and there was Frederick Chilton before him, no burns, no scars, nothing to suggest he'd been a pin cushion for serial killers. He smiled wide, his green eyes shining as he took Will's hand in his own and pulled him forward.

"Come on in, Will. It's time to come home."

With that, Will walked in, the door shutting behind him as the fields surrounding his house became overrun with massive blossoming flowers, their vibrant colors blending together like an Impressionist painting. It was sublime, heavenly some may even say. It grew dark around the cabin, as it transformed into a sailboat that crossed a sea of stars. Tranquil and quiet, it disappeared into the ether, leaving nothing but a feeling of harmony, that all was as it should be. And it was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Bryan Fuller but I do what I want!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who gave me kudos, left comments, and read the story. It was such a labor of love and I'm very proud of it, so I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
